


Green-Eyed Monster

by KingsAndThieves (TehLotteh)



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: A fuckton of angst, A world without Ladybug, AU, Anxiety, Character Death, Chat has a lot of problems, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Mari has a type, Work In Progress, dark au, is an imbalanced world indeed, updated tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:52:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5973058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/pseuds/KingsAndThieves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A half-century ago, Ladybug and Chat Noir disappeared from history.</p><p>A decade ago, a serial killer called Chat Noir claimed his first victim.</p><p>A year ago, Marinette lost the love of her life to the same man.</p><p>An hour ago, she received a letter from an individual named Hawk Moth who promised her closure in exchange for her assistance in taking down Chat Noir.</p><p>A second ago, she made a decision that would throw all she knew upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first work in this fandom so I apologise if things feel a little rocky, but hopefully they'll smooth out with time.  
> I just wanted to clarify that while writing this I'm working in a vaguely 1930s timeline but with some liberties (as in major historical events will not be focused on, and barely mentioned), but it's free to interpretation. It's only really that I was listening to the Moulin Rouge soundtrack when this story came to me that this era stuck for me.  
> Also, please feel free to let me know if there are any typos/structure errors and I'll get to them - I'm terrible at my own proof reading.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_Good Luck._

_Bad Luck._

_They were supposed to balance each other out, weren't they?_

 

* * *

 

“Marinette, come on! You're going to be late!”

Her father's rich voice carried up the stairs of their little end of the terrace building to the top floor where the girl in question was flittering around, knocking sheets of sewing patterns off her desk in an attempt to hurriedly gather her last few pieces of clothing together. Heavens, she was never on time, was she? What would he think if she kept him waiting? Would he go without her? Would he get bored of waiting and decide to break up with her and date someone she loathed but who was so much more punctual than she? No, of course he wouldn't, this was Adrien fucking Agreste, the angel on legs, the saint in a world of sin, her precious love who was too pure for this existence.

The day Adrien Agreste left without his perpetually late date would be the day hell froze over.

“Where is it, where is it,” she muttered to herself as she rummaged through her jewellery box, knowing deep in her heart that it was going to take her hours to untangle the chains from her necklaces when she next wanted them, but that was the least of her concerns at that moment. She could hear her boyfriend in question chatting to her parents downstairs and her need to hurry only increased. It wasn't just a matter of trying to keep on time any more. No, it was more a case of avoiding the collateral damage of her parents embarrassing her by telling baby stories (yet again) or reminding him of just how huge a crush their daughter had had on him for as long as they'd known each other.

She heard Adrien's awkward laugh as she finally found the item she had been searching for, a necklace he had gifted her on their second date. It was a gorgeous piece of immeasurable worth, a pendant of a butterfly dotted with pink and white stones and consisted of elaborately twisted gold wiring. He had told her that it was very similar to the necklace his late mother had always worn, and that in his mind she had the same kindness in her heart as his mother had had. It had been the greatest compliment she could have ever have received from him, and she treasured the piece immensely. She could see how much sentiment had been behind the gift and that meant far more to her than any monetary worth.

Slipping her feet into her heeled shoes she spared herself a quick glance in the mirror, the pendant dangling loosely in her hand, and felt her cheeks warm as she studied herself in approval. She'd spent a considerable amount of time getting ready for tonight (though they were going to the Opéra National de Paris – a box and all!) and she hoped he would approve. She was wearing a dress of her own design in a deep red, off the shoulder sleeves trimmed in champagne satin, fitting her form perfectly to her waist before dropping off into an understated yet elegant floor length skirt. The very end was peppered in lace butterfly motifs that she had had commissioned from a favoured trader within the city, in a variety of shades ranging from black to silver to white, and sequins slotted into the gaps in the lace with precision. They matched the patterns on her necklace, and she knew he would appreciate the gesture. Designing a whole outfit to match his gift had been no simple task, but it had been worth all the tears and late nights.

Dealing with her hair had been the more difficult part of the evening's preparation, but she had successfully teased the dark locks into some semblance of curls, pinned round to one side to cascade over her shoulder, with “less-is-more” make-up bringing out the blue in her eyes without making her look caked in the stuff. She considered herself to be a girly-girl on most occasions, but while she could whip up an elaborate gown out of an old bed sheet, she was hopeless when it came to decorating her face.

“Marinette!”

“Coming, papa!”

Guessing that that was her final warning call she picked up her bag and slipped it over her shoulder, hurrying down the narrow steps to the family room below. Her house may have been small from the outside, but it covered a lot of ground vertically. The very bottom floor was dedicated to the bakery her parents owned and ran, passed down her father's side since her great-great-grandfather Albert Dupain opened it up with his younger brother, Michel, and it had only grown in popularity from then. The next floor up was both a storage room and her parents' quarters, allowing them to be nearer to the shop for opening time, with the general family quarters sandwiched between that floor and Marinette's attic. She was extremely grateful to her parents for giving her so much space to call her own, allowing her to spread out in order to work on her designs. Although it meant that the Dupain bakery would finally have to change hands out of the family once her parents retired, they believed that it was more important for her to chase her dreams.

Speaking of dreams, stepping down the final few steps she came face to face with the best thing to have ever happened to her. Adrien Agreste was the real life incarnation of Michelangelo's Davide, she swore, with his flawless skin and gentle yet strong facial features, golden hair that curled just so, and eyes so green that emeralds would surely pale in comparison. She'd seen photographs of his mother, a model in her own right, and there was no denying that he got the majority of his looks from her. His father, by comparison, was an angular man, all blocky shapes and sharp contours with greying eyes and greying hair. She'd only met the man once, but she knew that Adrien didn't like to talk about him much. Once his wife disappeared under mysterious circumstances, Gabriel Agreste only succeeded in distancing himself from his only son.

She had heard it rumoured in the news that Gabriel had turned aggressive towards Adrien, on one occasion resulting in a public argument where the younger Agreste was blamed entirely for the disappearance, and it had had a detrimental affect on Adrien's mentality. He had very little trust in his own sense of self-wroth as it was, and his father seemed to relish in making him feel like a failure of a son. It was only in the last few months that he had cut himself off from his father completely, and while he may have lost the last of his blood relatives from his life, he had gained a more loving family in the form of Tom and Sabine Dupain-Cheng. He and Marinette had still been a very new couple at that time, both a little hesitant to push any further commitments between them, but her parents had insisted on her bringing him round and since that day he had been a welcome face in their household.

He heard her step into the room and looked up to her with such a bright smile that she swore she could have melted, shyly slipping her hand into his outstretched one as he raised it to his lips, thumb rubbing against the inner side of her wrist. She could feel her face heat up in a blush at his actions as he stepped back to appraise her properly, eyes dancing as he took in all the details on her dress.

“Marinette,” he spoke softly, not dropping her hand for a moment. “You look incredible. And this dress.. You've outdone yourself. Really, this is the best you've made yet!”

She couldn't speak for the blush, his praise never failing to warm her to the core. Being the son of the most illustrious designer in Paris, his opinion carried weight within the fashion industry. It was expected that he had grown up with an eye for quality, and although he never outright expressed his dislike of an item, if he felt she could have improved somewhere he always explained it in a constructive manner. “Perhaps a darker shade might compliment the trimming”, or “this cut may not be so flattering for all shapes, perhaps a little higher for the darts to cinch in the waist” were along the lines he normally gave, and she always respected his opinion and took his advice on board. With his support her hopes of being accepted into a fashion house were growing closer and closer, and a couple of designers had expressed interests in seeing her portfolios. This dress was definitely going to be on the front page of her dossier, and she just hoped that they would approve of her style.

The two glanced up as her parents made a sound of approval, having seen the dress in various stages of development but never completed and on their daughter. Sabine stepped to her with tears in her eyes, softly kissing her on the cheek with her hands on her shoulders, Adrien stepping back to give them some space. “My beautiful Marinette, you look so stunning.. My little girl.” She found herself pulled into a warm hug, her much larger father soon joining in and pulling her into a bear-like embrace as well before laughing and snagging Adrien's sleeve to make sure he wasn't left out at all.

They would have stayed like that for a long time, had the bell not rang to inform them that their taxi had arrived and was waiting for them. With one last hug the younger couple made their way outside, Adrien throwing his jacket over her shoulders to keep her warm in the chilly Parisian evening, holding open the door and helping her in before taking his seat beside her. She ran a quick glance over his outfit for the evening, a well tailored three piece suit, and reached over to smooth a crease on his shirt as the vehicle took them on their way towards the Opéra.

 

* * *

 

 

Der Rosenkavalier had been everything Marinette had been anticipating and more. It was an opera she had been yearning to see since its creation, intrigued by the gimmick of the male lead being played by a female mezzo-soprano, and of course the costumes had been to die for. The fact that Adrien had booked them a private box right near the stage had been a highlight of the evening, the two being served a quality meal and drinks during the intervals between the acts. The production had run perfectly, and she couldn't help but feel her eyes well at the emotional ending where the slightly elder Marschallin ushered the young Octavian to pursue the youthful Sophie, despite her own love for him. The age old adage of “if you love someone enough, you'll let them go” came to mind, and she found herself thanking her lucky stars that she and Adrien would have no such worries between them.

They had already discussed priorities in their relationship, that her career would come first for her, while family would be foremost in his mind, that while he had enough wealth to sustain them on little work she wished for her independence and therefore would earn her own way. If anything felt wrong between them, they discussed it, and that was that. They communicated, they were happy with their plans, and both respected each other's need for space.

It had been at the end of the evening, as they were heading back down into the foyer where everyone gathered to discuss Strauss' latest masterpiece, that she was approached by a couple of people who expressed an interest in her dress, wishing to know where they could buy such a fabulous design. Upon explaining that it had been their own creation she had received warm praise, the women in particular professing joy at having a female designer to cater to female needs. They took her name and promised to recommend her to their friends in the industry, and eventually parting from the building she was on such a high that Adrien suggested they walk back to hers in order to enjoy the night to its fullest.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” he spoke with affection, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they started down the pavement, people starting to separate to head back to their respective homes. His jacket was back over her shoulders, and she shivered lightly as she reached up with her spare hand to pull it closer to her.

“It was honestly the best evening of my life,” she sighed happily, looking up to him. She caught the side of his mouth twitch into a warm smile, tucking in to let someone pass them in the other direction. “I'm sad that it's almost over.”

“Well, how about we meet for lunch tomorrow? I have a shoot in the morning but I'm free to spend the day with you afterwards.”

She had to admit that she was secretly pleased that he had decided to continue modelling even after cutting ties with Agreste Fashion. Working for his father he had hated it, hated the overbearing nature and the necessity to be nothing short of perfect at any given moment. He had tried finding work elsewhere but nothing had stuck for him, and in the end he had given in and told her that it would be a shame to waste such good looks slaving away over paperwork.

(She may have also blackmailed him by saying his modelling meant she could have photos of him to keep with her whenever they were separated for any amount of time. She felt no guilt on this matter).

“Nothing would please me more,” she beamed, reaching up to peck him on the cheek, though he caught her elbow and pulled her closer to kiss her properly. They remained like that for a moment, enjoying each other's company while floating on the highs of an excellent evening's entertainment, and when they returned to walking back to hers it was with a spring in their steps. Marinette would walk along the cracks in the pavement, holding onto Adrien's outstretched hand for balance, discussing the shapes of the clouds in the sky above them, barely illuminated by the dense street lights above them. It was difficult to see the stars in the city, but she was determined to head out into the countryside with him some months later, her aunt having promised that they could use their house there while they went on a holiday further afield.

Her heart fluttered as they caught each other's eyes at the same moment, and she felt a warmth creep up her spine and neck, smiling to him shyly. Was it possible to feel any more in love with him than she did right then?

On a whim she suggested they cut through the alley that took off a good chunk of their journey, mostly because her feet were starting to get tired in her heels and she most certainly did not trust the floor enough to go barefoot. He offered to carry her but she kindly declined, not wanting to inconvenience him any more than she already had. As a general rule she avoided alleyways, but she had Adrien with her, and he was trained in fencing and general combat. If anyone tried to mug them she didn't doubt that he would be able to keep them safe.

When asked later what her biggest regret in life was, from that day on she would always answer that she should not have turned left into that narrow walkway.

It all happened so quickly. A long metal pole slammed down between them, extended from a balcony a few floors up, and the sharp rap of pain caused the two lovers to dart apart, their first mistake. Marinette could barely cry out a warning as the pole came towards her with a sudden turn of speed, smacking her firmly back against the wall with a sickening crack as she felt her skull collide with the brick. Her vision wavered in front of her but she still saw Adrien yell in alarm, diving to her side.

She was aware of a thud to her right as whoever wielded the staff jumped to the ground floor, a figure dressed all in black standing slowly from his low crouch, retracting the pole until it was barely the size of his forearm. Messy blond hair curled around his face, dirty in comparison to Adrien's own light shade, with eyes a duller shade of green glowing in the dark like those of a cat's. A leather tail flicked once, twice, and she was reminded of a feline stalking its prey, knowing it was almost within its grasp.

Adrien moved to stand protectively over her, stance dropping into the defensive. She could see him tremble, whether from fear or adrenaline she didn't know, but as the pieces slid into her fuddled mind the former started to make more sense.

For ten years now Paris had been the centre of a series of murders, seemingly unrelated, but all committed by the same man. A man with no name, only a moniker, a man in a suit of black with slit pupils and green eyes, a man who could scale buildings and drop from the tallest balcony and never stumble. A man rumoured to have a deadly touch, claws that burned like acid. Chat Noir was advancing on them and they were defenseless.

“I'll not let you hurt her!” Adrien's voice rang out steadier than his body seemed, determined to protect Marinette from this killer's reach. The strange man just smirked, a confident, unsettling expression on his face as he stepped ever closer, twirling the small baton with ease in his left hand, flexing the pointed tips on his right. A mask of black covered his face, hiding his true identity, but those eyes never blinked and that was perhaps the most disturbing thing of all. He had a few inches on Adrien, more muscle too, and Marinette could only whimper a warning, begging Adrien to run, something, anything. In her mind's eye she could see how this would play out but it was like a nightmare, one of those horrific moments where she wanted to scream, witnessing an accident on repeat and screaming and wailing but being locked behind a screen where her cries would never see the light of day.

She heard a whispered “Cataclysm” and saw Chat Noir dive to the left in a feint, a feint that Adrien fell for and oh God his right collided with his chest and all she could smell was burning flesh and Adrien's strangled cry and then he fell forwards limp and _he couldn't be dead no this was all her fault **why had she taken them down this path**._

Chat Noir caught his falling victim easily over his arm and slung him effortlessly over his shoulder, turning his unwavering gaze on Marinette then. She scrambled slightly, pressing her back against the wall as she struggled to draw breath through the constricting grief round her chest. Her eyes couldn't tear themselves away from the body hanging there, even as Chat Noir crouched before her, studying her critically a moment. She could see his brow furrow a little as whatever he saw ran through his brain, processing it. After what seemed to drag on for minutes he grinned a full Cheshire grin and stood once more, shifting his weight onto his leg.

“Listen up, mademoiselle. Chat Noir doesn't leave survivors. You got lucky. You pretended to be dead, and I left you alone. You got it?”

“I may as well be dead when you've taken from me the one thing I treasure the most.”

The corner of his eye twitched in the face of her response, and though she saw his jaw tense he said nothing in return. He watched her in silence for some seconds more before taking two steps away, his pole expanding and shooting him up into the sky. She saw him land on one of the rooftops and then he was gone, leaving her alone in that alley as shock started to take her in its talons.

It felt like her life was one giant trope as the heavens opened and she started to cry, pulling his jacket around her tighter in a futile attempt to stave off the water, his smile tearing a hole in her mind's eye and his necklace branding the skin of her chest as the realisation of all she had lost started to sink in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 is half written and I'll be spending tomorrow stuck in an airport so I'll try to write some more of it then. I will admit now that I'm not too quick at writing, but if you want to bug me/chat at all I'm most easily accessed on tumblr under the username kinloch-ho.  
> Genuinely, if this is taking too long to update please please bug me to get on it. I'll be a little slow this week as I'm moving to live in Italy with a house of people I don't know, but I have this whole story planned out and cannot wait to flesh it out.  
> If you've made it this far, thank you for reading!


	2. Read the Small Print

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A year after losing the man she loved, Marinette starts to consider where her interests diverge from those of the people around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologise in advance if this reads oddly - I ended up entirely rewriting what I had for this chapter, and then proofreading it all in one sitting. It's currently 3am and I would normally at least sleep on it but I'm moving to Italy tomorrow and I wasn't sure if I'd have any internet and I didn't really feel like sitting on it longer than necessary. I'll come back and read over it in a few days and possibly restructure a few sentences, but if anything's too wrong please let me know!
> 
> Also on my page chapter 2 has the same end notes as chapter 1 although on the edit page there's no sign of it there. If it shows up for you, sorry, I'll try and get that fixed. If not, I guess it's just me!

 

It was raining.

She had been living under a metaphorical grey cloud for the past year, but of course it had chosen today of all days to culminate into actual precipitation.

All around her people were dashing from path to path, taking shelter under the awnings of the shops that lined the pavements on either side of the road. It wasn't even just a light drizzle, the sun blocked out completely by the thick clouds burdened with poor weather. It reminded Marinette of that freak outbreak of weather some months back that had afflicted Paris without warning. Snow in one quarter, burning heatwave in another, wild thunderstorms somewhere in between. Nobody had been prepared for it, nobody knew what had caused it or why it had stopped, and nobody knew if it would happen again. Sometimes all it took was a little cloud before it got out of control.

She just hoped that Alya had managed to snag their usual table in their preferred haunt, a quaint little café on the corner that was set up and managed by an old friend of theirs from school. She had a feeling it would be packed today, good business for Rose but not ideal for the two best friends to catch up on their gossip. They didn't exactly have any intention of shouting their topics of conversation out for all and sundry, especially not if Alya was giving her any stories that wouldn't be in print until the next day.

She darted against the wall as a vehicle sped past and through a puddle, soaking her right side through with muddy water, and she stifled a groan of frustration. Her jacket did only cover her to her hips, so she would just have to cope with one freezing leg. It wasn't like she was far away now, and hopefully the heating in the café would be able to help thaw them through.

A mop of blond hair turned the corner in front of her and she felt her heart miss a beat, two beats, before the crushing disappointment settled in her chest once more. She thought she'd managed to quell that false sense of hope, knowing that she was only going to hurt each time, but she just couldn't help it. She wished so desperately for him to be with her, still wrote letters to him, would still ask if it was him at the door whenever her parents answered. She knew they worried for her, and she knew they were justified. A small part of her mind informed her that she was in denial, and she didn't disagree with it, but how could she combat it?

They'd never retrieved his body. It was the story of what had happened to his mother all over again, only this time his disappearance hadn't been without a witness. She knew it had been Chat Noir behind it, she knew it.

But who would believe her?

Chat Noir never left survivors. Chat Noir always left corpses.

Two details that were critically incorrect in her account. It didn't help that she'd been found with concussion, which immediately cast suspicion on anything and everything she had put in her statement. Rumours started to spread that they had had a lovers' tiff, grown violent, and after hurting her he had up and left to save face, knowing his name would be forever ruined within the city of Paris.

Marinette had argued in vain that if he had ever hurt her (which he wouldn't have – didn't anyone know how sweet and perfect Adrien had been?), she would have told them, she would have damn well known, but the police had just countered her statement with an off-handed comment that she was so blinded by love that she had created the whole thing because she couldn't cope with the truth that he didn't love her.

_Chat Noir never left survivors._

So why did he leave her?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as she arrived at her destination, pushing the door to _Café Rose_ open and slipping inside. The whole place was done up in pastel shades, primarily pink like the namesake of the owner, and the overly cutesy style never failed to bring a smile to Marinette's face. The walls were plastered in flower motifs and each chair bore a plush, velvet cushion (courtesy of Rose's hatred of hard, wooden chairs carried on from their school days), with little vases of brightly coloured faux flowers in the centre of each individual table.

She caught sight of Alya in their usual booth near the counter and slipped into her seat, waving a quick greeting to Rose at the counter who was busy serving up hot drinks for some of her other customers. Marinette couldn't contain the moan of thanks as Alya slid a steaming coffee over the table to her and she immediately cupped it in her hands, soaking in the warmth as she took in her friend's appearance.

A steady job had done a world of good for Alya, giving her enough money to move out of her sibling infested house and get out on her own, and she and Marinette had been discussing moving in together sometime in the future. As soon as she had her own reliable source of income she would take her friend's offer without a second thought, but she didn't want to end up free-loading off of her if work dried up for her. It was much easier to remain living with her parents and helping out at the bakery to earn her keep instead.

As a result of the move (and the absence of little angels), her best friend was looking a lot livelier and healthier, living out her dream as a journalist and writing for one of the up-and-coming papers, _Le Petit Journal._ She was a ruthless and relentless worker, never giving up the chase once she caught scent of a good scoop, and that was what made her invaluable to her company. Needless to say Marinette was very proud of her, though wasn't ashamed to be able to reap the social benefits either.

“Girl, have you even been eating? You look more starved to the bone than those models you dress,” Alya complained, lightly kicking her friend under the table. They both knew that Marinette had lost a considerable amount of weight from the stress and trauma of that horrific night, but she had slowly been putting it on once more thanks to her ever attentive parents. With the year anniversary approaching and no further news, however, she'd found her appetite waning once more. It looked like the case of the second missing Agreste was just going to be swept under the rug, just one more pretty face tragically vanished from the world, and since his father wasn't exactly pushing for any progress to be made it seemed more and more like a lost cause. They may have been dating but they were just that, not engaged, not married, and so she held absolutely no legal claim over the matter. Not that anyone would really listen to the daughter of a baker, anyway.

Even Alya's drive to search for the truth seemed to have disappeared, and as of a month or so back the topic was never brought up between them, not directly. Alya knew Marinette was still struggling to even face the reality that he was likely dead, and that pushing her was not going to help matters, and Marinette was well aware of the fact that she and Alya had very contrasting points of view regarding Adrien's death- _Disappearance._

Until they found a body, she would not allow herself to admit that he was dead.

“I came down with something earlier in the week, I'm just coming through the other end now,” Marinette smiled weakly, trying not to worry her friend. “I promise.”

Alya being Alya wouldn't buy it and waved at Rose for two large slices of gateaux to be brought over, insisting on treating Marinette to something so rich it would make her think twice on skipping meals again. Seeing the gargantuan piles of chocolate sponge and cream come towards them, Marinette was inclined to believe her threat. The two tucked into their cakes with varying degree of enthusiasm, but neither would leave the café later with anything short of a clean plate.

Deciding to cut to the chase, Marinette lay an elbow on the table, looking to her friend curiously as she toyed with some crumbs with her fork. “Did you hear about that attack yesterday?”

“That zookeeper? Of course. Horrific though, isn't it? You'd think by now that there would be a correlation between the targets but I certainly can't see one.”

And that was the scariest part about Chat Noir summarised in one. What connection was there between a wealthy teenage girl, a poor, middle-aged painter, an actor from out of town and an old lady whose only crime was having too many cats? Who knew why he attacked those he did?

What did Adrien have to do with any of them?

People had long ago given up on trying to protect themselves now. He killed in the open, he killed people locked safely inside cells. He killed without discrimination, and if you were in his sights there was nothing you could do. For the most part he only killed people when they were alone, but Marinette was a living contradiction to that rule.

The police had thought they were following a lead until their head of police was found murdered so she wasn't really sure what their policy was any more.

“Was anything different about this one?” She couldn't help but ask, hoping for a clue, anything, but Alya just shook her head sadly.

“Burns through the chest, just like most of them. It's like an acid burn, but not. It almost seems to bypass whatever they're wearing and go straight to their body – and it doesn't just stop at the skin. I had a chat with one of the forensic team working on this latest one and apparently all organs underneath the ruined flesh are just.. Well he said they looked like a mouldy banana for lack of a better description. Black, mushy, smelly.”

“It's good to see you have a strong stomach,” Marinette noted, smiling slightly as she saw her friend continue digging in to her cake. She just hoped that that meant it was a quick death for whoever got hit by it. Alya seemed to see her thoughts start to drift and, like the good friend she was, immediately deployed her diversion tactics.

“Anyway, you, I haven't seen you in weeks. Tell me about what you're designing at the moment – that coat's new, isn't it?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it's only really a prototype though. I think it would suit pockets at a different angle, and maybe a belt in cream to offset the navy..”

“I think that would look fabulous,” Alya promised, leaning across the table to take her hand and squeeze it. “What about a little embroidery on the collar? Girl, your needle skills are to die for – why not make each one unique? Put a little Marinette flair into it!”

She may not have the experienced eye that Adrien had had, but Marinette appreciated her friend's support throughout it all no matter what. The rest of their catch up was spent gossiping about lighter topics before duties finally called the two of them apart, their individual plates a battleground of crumbs with next to no survivors.

 

* * *

 

>  
> 
> _My most cordial greetings, Mlle Dupain-Cheng,_
> 
> _It has been brought to my attention that your attempts at discovering the truth of that most unfortunate event have been halted before they even began. I imagine it must be most distressing for you, and I know that were I in your position I would not be able to rest easy until I had my closure._
> 
> _This is why I have taken it upon myself to contact you, as I would not wish you to suffer any longer than you already have. The fact that you have not given up in the face of this_ _terribly tough year makes me believe that you have the determination to see this through to the end – and I assure you, the information you will uncover can be nothing short of grim. If you have the desire to pursue this further, I would have you meet with me at the enclosed address. Secrecy is of the utmost importance, which I do hope you understand. It would do neither of us any favours were Chat Noir's attention be drawn to us._  
> 
> _I pray you come to the decision which suits you best, mademoiselle._  
> 
> _I eagerly await to hear from you,_  
> 
> _Hawk Moth._

 

* * *

 

 The cursive letter trembled in her hands as she leaned back against the counter in her room, unsure what to make of it. She had found it slipped into her bag upon returning home from her afternoon with Alya, and since she always kept a firm hand over it while walking in order to deter any would-be pickpockets, that could only mean it was slipped in while at the café since it had definitely not been in there before hand.

 She didn't recognise the hand writing, though the register seemed educated and polite enough. The pseudonym threw her off a little, and the address given on the back wasn't in the best neighbourhood but it could certainly have been a lot worse. She had to count her stars on that point.

 If this was a reliable source, she might finally be in a position to discover the truth of the situation. Even though the odds were stacked against finding Adrien alive, it would be something. It would be the opportunity to put her doubts at bay, the chance to close that chapter of her life and move on to the next. Was she ready to move on?

 Did she really have a choice?

 What struck her most about the letter was the comfort it gave her, alarmingly. All through her struggles, her determination to dig about and find out more, she had felt utterly alone. Her parents had been perfect for the emotional support, but they were convinced she wasn't accepting enough of what was going on. Alya, bless her, thought her obsession was unhealthy as well. Nobody else would mention it to her for fear of upsetting her, or because they thought she was losing it.

 Yet here, out of the blue, someone had heard of her plight and was willing to help. Right now she would give anything just for someone to lend an ear, let alone any possible leads. She knew she should be more suspicious of this (since when did a letter slipped to someone and signed practically anonymously bring anything but bad news?) but she was just so tired of waiting and waiting with nothing to show for it. This letter and the opportunity it presented was a titbit of hope that she could cling to and she couldn't bear the idea of turning it down now.

 It was so simple, perhaps too simple, to head out the front door with a word to her parents that she wanted to go and visit the fabric markets before they closed, the excuse that she knew would never fail. It pained her inside to go behind their backs but she knew if she told them where she was going and why, or even hinted at it, she'd be locked upstairs with her father on guard duty and smothered with affection by her mother. A nice sentiment, but really, really not what she was looking for right then.

 She stuck to the wider streets where possible, glad that there was daylight still to make her feel just a hint safer, and started to feel a buzz of excitement in her chest as she approached the given address. It was entirely possible that behind these doors lay the answers she had been looking for, someone to take her by the hand and sit her down and tell her who Chat Noir was, why he killed, how he could be stopped.

 Why he had attacked Adrien, why he had left her alive. Why he had seen fit to ruin so many lives, so many innocent, promising lives with his mindless destruction.

 She took a deep breath to settle the butterflies in her stomach, and raised a hand to knock on the door, back straight and shoulders set. For the first time in months she felt like things were finally falling into place, and was never more ready than that moment to delve into the unknown and embrace whatever life would throw at her next, knowing she had already faced the worst it had to give.

 She may not have felt quite so sure of herself had she noticed a pair of piercing green eyes staring at her from the shadows, determined and unwavering.


	3. What do you want, little butterfly?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's meeting with Hawk Moth may have answered some of her questions, but it only brought her further away from the closure she was seeking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to say a warm thank you to all of you who have left comments, kudos, bookmarks, or even just reading! It's really nice to know you're enjoying this, and even if the story took a 180 degree flip from what I originally planned, hopefully it works out well enough :3  
> As predicted the wifi in this hotel is dodgy as, but on the plus side it means I have absolutely no distractions from writing.
> 
> Note to self I just discovered I literally only have a connection hanging half out my third floor window holding my laptop preciously. I waited a whole day for the wifi to work and I only just found this out xD

 

Marinette's internalised “stranger danger” scale was unable to come to a consensus.

On the unsettling hand, the man sat in the chair across from her, one leg folded over the other, wore a full face mask that distorted his profile beyond all recognition, leaving only his mouth and eyes free. His eyes were cold and calculating, a grey colour that seemed to lack any other hue, while his mouth seemed permanently drawn into a wry smile. 

She understood the desire for anonymity, but it was so well made that she couldn't help but worry what it actually was that the man did that required such attentively crafted disguises. Hopefully nothing too illegal – hopefully he wasn't an accomplice of Chat Noir's. He was the only other man that seemed to wear a mask outside of masquerade parties, after all. 

It would be just her luck if she had fallen for the most simple bait in the world. If she had done, and somehow made it out, she didn't think she would be worthy of such a second chance. 

On the other hand, what stood out for her on the “perhaps this man isn't a psychopath” side was the gentle thrumming of a thousand tiny wings in the room around them, little flickers of white catching the sun through the large window behind him whenever they cut across a beam. 

What kind of malevolent man would surround himself with the purest, most harmless creatures alive?

A butterfly landed on her knee and she resisted the urge to try and touch it as it sat there, fanning its wings, forcing herself to look back up to the man who had brought her here.

Hawk Moth's right hand continued to idly swirl his drink, something golden in colour that she hadn't the foggiest idea of its nature. Something strong and alcoholic and she certainly knew better than to take drinks from strangers in abandoned buildings if he offered one to her. A cane lay across his plum-suited legs, a leather-clad glove idly stroking the cold metal as he smiled slightly.

“It pleases me greatly that you came to see me, Mademoiselle Dupain. I had feared you may have let our lack of acquaintanceship get in the way of our potential goal,” he spoke, his voice deeper than she expected from his face, but also reserved. It was almost as if he were reluctant to let any emotion slip, not wanting to reveal the slightest hint about his identity.

Marinette smiled politely, wriggling her toes as she brought her feet a little closer together, hands resting in her lap. She was vaguely aware of the fact that she was wringing them, but she tried not to make it too obvious. “I really don't want to come across as rude, Monsieur, but I don't have too long here. If I don't return home when I said I would, people will start looking for me.”

“Of course, child, of course.” The term only made her bristle a little, certainly being of age by now, but she knew it wasn't meant as an insult. She hoped it wasn't, in any case. Without moving his body in the slightest the air around him seemed to grow more serious, as if signalling that the pleasantries were over. “I suppose you want to know what light I can shed on our feline threat, yes?”

She nodded fervently, digging her nails into the side of her hand. Hawk Moth raised his glass and took a long drink, long enough to make her shift a little in impatience. She knew she was at his mercy, and at any time he could call an end to the conversation if he felt she was being rude, but the desire to know was growing stronger by the second.

“How much do you know about the old stories? The tales of the Miraculous?”

She blinked a little at that, not really having expected such a topic to have come up in this matter. Of course they all knew the stories, the legends of the heroes that fought day in, day out, protecting their respective cities under fancy pseudonyms. Ladybug and Chat Noir had been the two predominantly in charge of France, Paris in particular, but she had heard rumours that they dated back so far as Ancient Egypt, perhaps even further. Supposedly it was not the same Ladybug and Chat Noir each time, merely that they were identities passed on when the previous pair grew too old or were injured or worse, but she'd never really been sure. The heroes had been absent from their society for some time, and were no more than children's stories now.

“Only that nobody's heard anything of them for many years now. This Chat Noir has nothing to do with them, surely – just some lunatic who thought it would be amusing to dirty his name.” Hawk Moth stared at her, blinking slowly, and she started to feel herself doubting her thoughts, if only a little. “Right..?”

He couldn't be insinuating that the Chat Noir who was terrorising the innocent populace of Paris was the same ilk as the one who died time and again in order to protect these same people, could he?

“How many mortals, be they lunatics or not, do you know that have the power to destroy a man's insides with only a touch?”

“I-”

“There are scientists,” he continued, his tone never changing from its indifferent state, “Who have been working hard to replicate the same effect but to no avail. If the most educated men and women of our generation, the very pinnacle of the human race, cannot pinpoint the chemical compounds needed for such a lethal strike, how do you suppose one lone man could create and perfect it, let alone contain it without causing harm to himself?”

She fell silent, the scenario that he was presenting only giving her more questions than answers. Chat Noir was a hero, wasn't he? In all his reincarnations, in all his time-lines, he had risked everything to protect people. Him and his-

“What about Ladybug?” Marinette asked, hating how her voice quavered a little. “There can't be one without the other, can there? They've always been together, always. How can there be Chat Noir without Ladybug? If they both disappeared all those years ago, why is it only him who has returned?”

He was silent for a long time at that, and she almost made to ask him if he was still listening to her when she heard a low, throaty rumble, realising with a start that he was laughing. She could feel herself ruffle at that, concerned and a little insulted that he was laughing at her before he shook his head, eyes on her. “You have just pinpointed the issue, Mademoiselle. You want to know why Chat Noir kills, do you not? Why he took your beloved Adrien from you?”

She bristled at that, hating it when other people said his name as if they knew him, but she bit her lip and nodded all the same. She watched as he stood, making his way behind his chair and towards some sort of desk hidden in the shadows near the back of the room. With each step the butterflies dispersed from the floor, soon coming to flock back around him, and she was vaguely reminded of that man she sometimes saw feeding the pigeons out in the streets. The way they clung to him as if he were their protector and provider stuck in her mind once more, and she watched curiously as he returned to the centre of the room with a large, octagonal box balanced in his hands.

He took his seat once more and lifted the lid, revealing a velvet cushioned interior in a deep red, a little ruffled but still fairly clean. A central pillar stood in the middle, a little cylinder, surrounded by five larger and shallower compartments. It intrigued her to notice that each was colour coded, the one where the hinges of the lid met the box being an orange, with the others filling in clockwise came across as yellow, green, blue and purple. He indicated with a small gesture to the compartment in the middle, the symbol of Yin and Yang settled there in a blood red instead of the traditional black.

“Do you know what this is?” Hawk Moth asked her, eyes studying her once more. She shook her head, gaze drawn to the shapes in each compartment. The blue one, the one closest to her, looked like it would hold some sort of peacock broach.

“I have never seen anything like this before, Monsieur.”

“This is the box that once contained all the Miraculous of the world. I can see by your face you thought Ladybug and Chat Noir were the only two.”

She nodded, brow furrowed as her mouth opened momentarily, floundering for words. “Do you mean the others.. Did they just disappear too? Like Ladybug and Ch.. Like Ladybug?”

“All things have their time. Once they were no longer needed, they grew dormant. Perhaps they lie in someone's jewellery box now, or in a museum, or even in a landfill somewhere. The world has not needed heroes such as Mariposa and their kind for a long time now. See here, though; do you notice that these two in the centre hold a position above the rest?”

Marinette nodded once more, finding she had nothing to say as he made his explanations. All the compartments were empty, but while the ones on the lower tier had spaces carved into particular shapes, these central two seemed identical in every way, the only indent being small circles within the tear drop shapes of the twin symbols.

“Ladybug and Chat Noir bore the most powerful of the Miraculous. While the other Miraculous would draw off something definitive, something finite, these two Miraculous harness the natural balance of the world and manifest themselves into luck. Ladybug, the symbol of good luck, and Chat Noir the inverse.”

“You almost make it sound as if they were meant to balance each other out,” Marinette commented, letting out a slight breath. A Yin and Yang situation.. And if one were missing, then everything must be thrown out of balance. What was bad luck without good? What was a Chat Noir without a Ladybug?

She sat back in her chair as thoughts started running through her head, Hawk Moth watching her in silence as he studied her every facial expression, allowing her a moment to sort it out herself.

There could not be one without the other, except that this time, there was. She tried to imagine it, tried to picture how it must feel to be one half of a whole. She thought about what made her feel whole, what completed her, and it was little surprise to her that it was Adrien who came to mind.

He had been her better half, but a half all the same. There was an emptiness inside her, a loss she couldn't explain without him around. She thought about opposites in the world, how everything had something that complimented it. The sun had the moon, the hot had the cold. Take one away, and it was devastating.

How must it feel for Chat Noir, to know he shouldn't be alone? He was the moon without the sun, a moon who had never had the sun in his own memory, and without the sun the moon would never shine.

Was that it? Was all his bad luck drowning him? Was it his burden to shoulder the imbalance of the world without any of Ladybug's luck to support him?

“What would happen, hypothetically speaking,” she found herself asking slowly, trying to organise her thoughts into some semblance of order, “If there was no balance?”

“Exactly what you would expect, Mademoiselle. You're familiar with the term 'Akuma'?” She nodded. “They latch on to negative thoughts, negative emotions, and fester. They corrupt the very core of the affected person until there is nothing left. Now, Miraculous wielders are naturally hardy, but think of it. It's been a decade since Chat Noir first started killing. Who knows how long he was awakened for before he attacked?”

“If he had to shoulder all the bad in the world.. Nobody would be able to remain strong through that.”

So what he was saying was that, alone, Chat Noir had been made the host of an Akuma? She felt her heart ache for him then, something she never thought she would have felt for the man who killed her lover, but she had been criticised on more than one occasion for having too pure a soul. If he was striking out under the influence of some otherworldly force, she didn't believe he could truly be held accountable for his actions. There was so much negativity in their world as it was, and if his powers meant that he absorbed most of it, she dreaded to think what he must feel like.

“Is there nothing anyone can do to help him?”

Hawk Moth's face showed his first expression, eyes widening minutely in surprise at her question. He took only a moment to compose himself, nodding then with a softer voice. “I didn't expect any less from you – there are very few in the world with such a selfless personality. As you know, it was Ladybug who had the power to purify these Akuma. Since she is not around and there have been no attacks, we can assume that Chat Noir is the only one to have been affected. It is my belief that the Akuma will have taken refuge inside his Miraculous – his ring.” He tapped his ring finger on his right hand in emphasis and Marinette nodded, committing it to memory.

“So if, say, someone managed to separate him from his ring..?”

“It would be extremely difficult, but yes, without his ring he should be released from its control and returned to his normal state, whatever and whoever that may be. He left you alive when he would have killed anyone else, young lady. I believe there must be a reason. Perhaps you remind him of someone – you call out to something in his subconscious,” Hawk Moth answered, closing the box and placing it delicately onto the floor beside him. “It would be at a great risk to your personal safety, but think on it; you might be able to finally allow your poor Adrien to rest in peace with the knowledge that no more lives will be taken in vain. If I may ask such a thing, though, the ring would be safest brought to me. This box would ensure it brings no harm to anyone again.”

She nodded and thanked him before standing, knowing that her time was almost up and sensing that the conversation was drawing to its natural end. She would have to think on it, or so she told herself, but deep down she knew she had already come to a decision. A decision, but not a game plan. There was time for that yet.

The pale white butterflies followed her as she made her way to the door, Hawk Moth's voice calling out to her as she placed her hand on the handle and paused, glancing to him.

“Those earrings you wear. They're gorgeous.”

She smiled slightly and reached up, running a finger over the smooth, red resin, and nodded.

“Thank you, Monsieur, and thank you for all your help,” she responded, stepping out and closing the heavy door behind her.

  

* * *

 

 

The sound of fluttering wings was almost as maddening as the dripping of rain water through the leaking roof in the far corner. The glass jars were meant to contain them but he swore it only amplified them, each beat running through his hypersensitive hearing and gnawing away at his patience. 

He hated the butterflies. He hated them. Each a vile near-black, with a purple sheen in the light, beating away at their jars in an attempt to get to him. He could almost hear them calling to him, begging him, _we know your secrets_ , they'd say, _we know your fears._

_Let us help you, man behind the mask._

_We can make it all disappear._

He felt the familiar sensation of his transformation disappearing, the leather vanishing from his skin to be replaced in a matching outfit in cotton, holding his hand out to catch the little black creature who flopped down into it, blinking wide green eyes at him.

“I don't want to hear it, Plagg.”

“You're angry,” the creature responded, round face twisting into a frown as he patted a tiny paw against the man's hand. “I told you not to come here when you're angry. You know they make it worse.”

Hundreds upon hundreds of butterflies, of course they'd make it worse. He growled under his breath, the kwami floating up to hover right in front of his face, staring into his eyes with an intensity he didn't usually show.

“Plagg, I don't want to hear it, alright?” he snapped, earning another glare. As if his day couldn't have gone any worse, to add insult to injury he'd slipped on the final rooftop on his way home and jarred his spine upon landing. Cats may always land on their feet, but humans weren't meant to absorb such shocks. It wasn't painful but it ached, and it ached just enough to make him irritable.

“So she went to go and see him, so what? She's just a girl.”

“Just a girl? I'd think you'd be a tiny bit more concerned about the fact that she went to see _him_! I don't see why you won't let me go and visit him face to face, I really don't,” he growled once more, pushing the kwami aside and starting to walk back down the hallway.

It was more of a cavern than a hallway, an old abandoned cellar underneath the city with only a manhole for a skylight, but he'd spent so long down here now it took next to no time for his eyes to adjust even outside of his transformation. In every crevice and crack, every shelf and ledge, he'd stuffed jars upon jars of the bastards. He had a box in the corner filled with empty jars, things he'd collected from raiding people's bins like the alley cat he was, and he knew he'd need to stock up again.

Plagg was right, this place was bad for his mental health. He didn't trust them to remain safely locked away unattended, though. If something happened, some incident resulted in letting them all get loose, he knew he would never be able to forgive himself. Better to grin and bear it, after all. It's how he dealt with everything in his life up until now, and it was how he would continue dealing with everything to come.

The kwami in question floated up beside him with a frown, though didn't push this time, and they were both grateful for it. Plagg knew his Chat Noir knew why they couldn't just march into his lair and destroy him, but he also knew how much it pained his Chosen to be unable to act. With every day that passed the influence the bottled Akuma had on him grew stronger, and in turn their window of opportunity grew less and less.

He'd always had a bit of a pride issue, insisting in his heydays that his Chosen needed no help from the other Miraculous wielders, but he'd always known it to be a lie. He hated the influence each and every Ladybug had had on each and every one of his Chats Noirs, but what he wouldn't give for one to appear now.

He followed his Chosen as they made their way to the far end, landing on his shoulder and tangling a paw into a strand of blond hair for comfort. Whose comfort, he wasn't sure of.

“She still hasn't woken,” his Chat said in a soft voice, shoulders slumping very slightly as he ran a finger over the tiny black and red cheek on the pillow before him. Plagg's whiskers drooped, having known that there would have been no change but entirely unable to help hoping. He should have known better, it would take a serious stroke of luck to rouse her after all this time.

And, unfortunately for him, that was more her department than his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just found out Miraculous is going to start being broadcast in Italy (my home for the next three months) from the 22nd – I told my mum and she just said “somebody's lucky!” and it saddens me that she 100% did not realise the pun she made.


	4. How the Other Half Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette has a type, and Chat Noir has problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay in this, but I confused myself with my plot threads, and then I got bitten by a new plot bunny for this and it's taking a complete U-turn yet again. Hopefully things don't get much more confusing, but we shall see!
> 
> Also warning for some violence near the end. I tried not to make it graphic this time but just a heads-up.

 

“Oooooooww.”

Marinette groaned and rubbed the base of her spine where she'd fallen, her whole body taking a moment to get over the shock. She'd been hurrying on her way home from another catch up with Alya, having stopped to get some fabric on the way after being struck by a rare flash of inspiration, and her mind had been so occupied with her current plans that she hadn't noticed the man turning the opposite direction round the corner until they bumped into each other, her bags falling to the floor as she tripped over her own feet and landed backwards in the most ungraceful heap possible.

She heard movement opposite her as the man shuffled, getting to his feet, and saw a smooth hand stretched out to her with a soft “Are you all right?” aimed her way. She followed the line of his arm, mostly hidden by a dark brown jacket, up to a slender shoulder and sharp jawbone before she felt her breath leave her all over again for the second time in the span of half a minute.

Bright green eyes that sparkled like gems looked to her own, brows tilted up in concern as his lips twisted a little to the side. He was clean shaven, his face free from blemishes or marks though his cheekbones stood out against his skin, but those damn eyes kept drawing her in. So wide and alive and so, so familiar. Blond hair fell over his forehead in neat clumps, although she could see it was normally pushed back behind his ears and out of his face, and for a few sickening moments her heart stopped, twisting and clenching as she stared into a face so similar to the one that haunted her nightmares.

“A-Adrien..?”

He blinked and his eyes quickly widened, head tilted slightly. “Excuse me?”

And just like that the spell was shattered and she was faced with the horrid lurch as her stomach dropped once more, those few seconds of a high giving way to the burning pain of loss for the umpteenth time. She took his hand and stood, feeling him squeeze her slightly in comfort, before she turned round to pick her bags up once more. He was quick to help her, flashing her a slightly awkward smile.

“S-sorry, monsieur, it's just that you looked like someone I knew- know.”

“It's not a problem,” he chuckled softly, brushing some dirt from his clothes as he stood before her, and now that she could take him in properly she could see the differences. This man was taller, thinner, and definitely sharper in the face than Adrien. His eyes were a shade darker, slightly more elongated and sat deeper in his face than she had first thought, and his hairline rested a few centimetres further back than the one she used to run her fingers through. “My name is Félix, Félix Doublié. And yourself, miss?”

“Oh, ah, Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Although just Marinette works,” she responded, blinking a little. He had the accent of a Provincial, his vowels a hint shorter than her own and his consonants more clipped, but he sounded educated and well-spoken. They shook hands cordially before he gestured to her bags, bundled in her arms, with a weak smile.

“Can I help you with those?”

“Oh, I don't want to take you out of your way.”

“Nonsense,” he assured her, taking the one that seemed to be slipping out of her arms once more. “I'm in no hurry to go anywhere, anyway. I haven't long moved to Paris – it would be nice to make a friend here.”

She hesitated a moment, though soon nodded. It would be easier with someone else to help carry her things, and there was something in his expression that called out to her. There was a glint in his eyes, almost a loneliness to him, and it resonated so strongly with her that she didn't know if she could say no, even if she had wanted to. He was soon falling into step with her and she couldn't help but glance to him as they walked, studying him some more.

His posture wasn't as confident as Adrien's, she could see that now. He was a little sloppy, a little more, well, average for want of a better word. He walked with his shoulders rolled forwards, his head angled slightly down, almost as if he tried not to be noticed. His clothes, although not poorly made, didn't seem to fit him properly, as if they were second-hand or bought cheaply at the sacrifice of their size.

He seemed like an everyday sort of guy, and she could certainly sympathise with that.

“You say you're new to Paris?” she ventured, not wanting the silence to drag on to the point that it became uncomfortable. He nodded, flashing another slightly shaky smile to her as they walked.

“I am,” he responded, shifting the weight of the bag in his hands. “I was raised way out to the east in Alsace, but with the troubles with the region and all, I decided to try my hand in the big city.” She had heard that the far-east regions in France were struggling with political tensions, and since Alsace found itself right on the border she imagined that it wasn't the most stable place to live. “I used to work as a businessman over there, helping with my family's work, but now that I'm here I thought I'd try my hand pursuing my first love, writing. It is the city d'amour, after all.”

She couldn't help but giggle at that, having heard that before. Anyone who came to visit from the outside tended to say the same, seeing the city just for its immediate beauty and reputation. Yes, she adored her home, but she also knew the dirtier side of it, the illegal deals and the cold-blooded murders.

“I thought you looked familiar,” he spoke, as if reading her mind. “Your fiancé was one of the victims of those awful attacks, wasn't he?”

“Boyfriend,” she corrected, though nodded sadly. She had been in the papers in the start as she pleaded for information, but as time went by and people brushed it aside as another lost case people had stopped recognising her. “I'm surprised the news made it out to Alsace.”

“A considerable part of France knows the trouble Paris faces. It's just one of those 'city problems' to most of us, however.”

She stopped as they reached the bakery, flashing him an awkward smile to let him know that they would be parting ways here. He made a slight noise, fishing in one of his pockets for some scrap paper and a pen then, and quickly scribbled an address down before handing it to her, a gentle expression in his eyes.

“If you ever get lonely or want to meet for a coffee or something, or even just to exchange letters, that's my address. I'd love to get to know you some more, Marinette.”

She took the paper between her fingers and flicked her gaze over it, mentally mapping out the city to try and work out where he was. A slightly poorer district of the city, but still within walking distance of her own house. She was pretty sure that it wasn't far from where Alya worked, so she might be able to work in a meeting with him after visiting her best friend some day.

“Thank you, that's very kind. I'll be sure to get in touch soon,” she responded warmly, flashing him a genuine smile as her gaze flicked up to him. He seemed happier at her reply, more relaxed, and he soon bent into a half bow as he took her hand, placing a very chaste and respectful kiss on the back of her hand, so light she almost didn't believe that it had happened. She felt blood rush up her arm and to her cheeks, the familiar warmth of a blush soon following, and stuttered a little as she tried to get some words of any sort out of her mouth.

To her surprise he blushed in turn, pulling back in embarrassment and running his fingers through his hair in a quick movement, sweeping it all out of his face once more to reveal his wide forehead.

“S-sorry! I, I better go.” He turned awkwardly and hurried off with a last wave, leaving her standing there in confusion at seeing someone so awkward as she, and feeling somewhat amused by it. She made a mental note to pen out a letter to him, to try and organise a meeting over a coffee; perhaps they could go to Rose's place, since that was where she enjoyed going with Alya, or maybe he had found a little corner place that they could go to try out that she hadn't heard of.

She didn't even realise that it was the first time she was planning on going out somewhere without the regret deep down that Adrien wouldn't be coming with her.

 

* * *

 

The street was deadly silent, but then again wasn't it always? The sun was just setting and it was unfortunate that the dying light had a clear run straight through the alleyway, because the only warning he got that he was about to take a hit was a sudden shadow passing in front of his eyes before a blinding pain shot straight through his shoulder.

He staggered back under the blunt force, angling his chest to the side to try and get the worst of the strike brush off and away, and quickly ducked low in a lunge. All he needed to do was try and get the other side of his enemy so that he could have the light advantage, but every time he made to duck and swerve he was pinned or beaten back.

This time was no exception, it seemed, as a third arm came out of nowhere and backhanded him solidly against the wall as a fourth grabbed his tail and pulled, hard, twisting him so that he met the wall head on.

Why oh why did this particular akuma have to grow an extra set of arms? As if fighting a body builder wasn't hard enough, it then had to be given a limb advantage over him. And lighting advantage. And size. All he had on his side was speed and he couldn't even put that to use in such a narrow space.

He could hear Plagg screaming in his mind to use his ability, but he didn't want to, not again. There had to be a different way to go about this, a way that didn't result in another unnecessary death. All these people were turned by some external force, something that corrupted them and tainted them and he knew that supposedly Ladybug could do something about it but, well, he didn't have one of his own did he?

All he could do was corrupt to the point of total destruction and of the two abilities, his was entirely useless right now.

He was torn out of his thoughts as another fist narrowly missed his face, cracking the brick beside him, and he danced back on his toes to try and put some distance between them, hissing as the blaring sunlight caught him straight in the eyes once more. The transformation may have modified his suit for greater night vision, but the fact that he took in light easier was a really big problem when looking directly at the sun was painful enough to ordinary eyes.

He hissed on reflex and ducked low, blinking rapidly to try and get the spots to leave his vision, barely catching the shadow move on his left as he darted away from it, using the momentum to bounce of that wall and backwards onto the opposite. Digging his claws in to the brick he started to climb, lashing out as something tried to grab his foot and managed to catch a lucky kick on the man's ankle, scrabbling ungracefully to higher ground. The sunlight only hit him worse from up there and he had to turn his head away, losing sight of both the light and any chance to see what was happening below him.

Finding a solid purchase on a window sill he gripped tightly with both hands, bringing the rest of his body up tight beneath him to minimise the size of the target his poor victim was aiming for, and used the opportunity to try and catch his breath.

The silence from the alleyway was less than reassuring.

He breathed in. He breathed out. His ears twitched as he strained to catch the slightest sound. Was the man just waiting for him down there? Was he stood, staring at the cat hanging above him? His tail flicked in anticipation, ready to balance him out on any emergency move that would be necessary.

A muted sensation of alarm from Plagg and a split second whistle of something sailing towards him was all Chat Noir had before he twisted to the side and made to drop, needing to move from that spot as quickly as possible, though his injured shoulder from before was a moment too slow in co-operating. He heard a thud as the metal bin collided with his forearm and he felt the cracking as something in his body shattered upon impact, mouth opening in a silent scream. He lost grip on the wall and dropped, body twisting round so that his feet would be under him (something he probably had Plagg to thank for).

They didn't make it to the floor, unfortunately, as a meaty fist gripped him at the throat and pinned him back against the wall with such force that he wasn't sure which would crumble first, the bricks or his spine. His baton was digging painfully into the small of his back, and he brought his legs up, contracting stomach muscles to ball himself up before lashing out with one, the other reaching up to try and get a purchase on the one currently holding him.

His vision was starting to fail him as he ran out of oxygen, the hand crushing his windpipe and cutting off all air supply, but if he could just push up a bit, take a bit of gravity off the hold, get a little air, he could keep going, surely.

His good arm was pinned beside him by the wrist, and he saw another hand reach up, coming towards his hand, his ring. Plagg was practically screaming inside his brain to act, to do something, to say the word. They could not lose the Miraculous – they could not give up.

He bit back a cry of desperation, knowing what he would have to do and wishing, really really wishing it didn't have to be this way. Every time, every fight, another person would die at his hand. He just wanted it to be different for once. He wanted to be able to walk into a situation and promise himself that he was going to save them, to make everything all right, and to be able to trust in his words.

The large hand pressed against his, two fingers taking hold of his ring. Plagg was like an air raid siren in his head, and he bit back a sob as he let a strangled “cataclysm” fall from his lips.

The effect was immediate. Black particles of energy burst from his hand before immediately sinking in to the first thing they touched – in this case, the man's hand pressed to his. He watched as the blackness dissolved all down his body, the arm just vanishing before his eyes, before the burning seemed to spread along his side. He noticed that the arm that had vanished had been one of the additional appendages, growing forth from his rib cage, and he let out a gasp as the one closed tight round his throat suddenly released, dropping him into an ungainly pile on the floor.

He gagged as the scent of charred flesh flooded his senses, already delicate from the emotional tug-of-war he had going on in his mind, and barely held back a wave of bile as the body twitched a final time, growing still. With its host dead, the Akuma fled from wherever it had been hiding, and he could see the vile purple creature starting to make its escape into the sky.

He straightened and pounced, managing to catch it in his one good hand, and held it tightly to his chest. It beat violently against him, desperate to be free, but he couldn't, he daren't let this poor man's death be in vain.

Taking only a second to get his bearings he ran, eyes hot with tears he refused to shed. Chat Noir killed without mercy. Chat Noir had no emotion other than hate. This was what the people expected, and this was what the people had to believe. It was nobody's business if he made as much noise as possible as he left the alley, making sure to be seen by at least someone. He didn't want the poor man's body to be left out in the street any longer than necessary.

Back in his den, one more butterfly sat in a jar on the wall, one more accessory to an innocent life lost. He dropped his transformation and fell to his knees, hugging his injured arm to him. The bones had healed, a last gesture from his kwami in an attempt to soothe his pains, but while he could aid the repair of the physical, he could do nothing for the pain in his heart. He hunched over tightly and let out a raw cry, one that he didn't doubt would work its way to the streets above. Let the people believe it was some poor soul, lost and alone. They wouldn't be far wrong.

For a short moment, Plagg doubted his choice of Chosen. He had erred, chosen someone who couldn't deal with all the pressure and the guilt. All it took was for a Chat Noir to be taken over by an Akuma, a rare occurrence but always a possibility, and then it would be game over. He and Tikki would be at their enemy's mercy, and their five thousand year old mission would have failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am basing Félix loosely on the original concept for Chat Noir, but as you can see he's had a personality change. And a surname change (with my own attempt at a pun which I'll explain some day). What will happen now? Nobody knows ;D
> 
> (Also I love these little theories I see you commenting with :D I won't lie, they really help with inspiration!)


	5. Nothing but Dust and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speak of the devil, and he shall come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare for things to get even more confusing.  
> If you think I know where I'm going with this, I'm very sorry to disappoint, but I quite like the turn this is taking.
> 
> (Also I'm going to try and go back and name the varying chapters at some point so if some have titles and some don't, I'm probably sat staring at it right now trying to think of something that fits).
> 
> Now go forth, and I hope you enjoy! Your flailing hypotheses feed this angst-fuelled heart <3

 

It was barely a week later when Marinette found herself sat in a little café, leaning forward eagerly as she caught sight of the blond-haired man she had been waiting for stepping in through the doorway. It had been so easy to pop round to the address he had given her to ask about meeting up for lunch some day, and he had been so enthusiastic that the whole deal had taken no time at all.

She raised a hand to catch his attention, smiling shyly as he flashed her a relieved look, coming over to the table she had snagged for them. She stood as he approached and took the hand he offered, stretching on to her toes to greet him with a kiss to each cheek, feeling him squeeze her fingers slightly before stepping back to shrug out of his coat. He was sporting a black waistcoat over a slender-fit shirt this day, she noticed, and it was a cut better much better suited to his body type than his clothes the last time she saw him. He had a grey silk tie that was loosely knotted, hanging a little below an undone collar, and she found the casual look really, really worked well for him.

He slid into the chair opposite her, smiling as Marinette showed him the menu on the table.

“It's good to see you again, Félix.” She idly stirred her coffee as she spoke, having arrived earlier than planned and ordering a drink in while she waited. “I trust you've been keeping well?”

He nodded warmly, tapping a finger against the menu as he glanced to her, openly beaming at her.

“I have, thank you!”

“You seem rather chipper today,” she laughed, noting the way he seemed to squirm in his seat in excitement. Compared to his almost reserved posture last time, he was currently sat bolt upright and practically buzzing with electricity. “Did something good happen?”

“Oh, I've had the most amazing morning,” he responded, glancing away from her only as a waitress came to their table, and quickly gave his order for a hot chocolate. Marinette was pretty sure he wouldn't need any more caffeine in him, at any rate. “I was hit by inspiration charging at me with the full force of a runaway train. That writer's block that has been bugging me is no more, and I intend to leave my mark all over my stack of papers.”

His enthusiasm was catching and she found herself unable to stifle a giggle, a delicate finger pressed to her lips, although by the widening grin on his expression he took no offence from her reaction. “Would you mind telling me a little about your story? I'd love to know more about the worlds you come up with – it sounds like such an amazing gift to have.”

She leaned her elbow on the table and rested her chin in a loosely clenched fist, smiling absently as she watched him beam at her, leaning forward in turn on the table to engage her in conversation. It felt so natural to mirror against him, matching his movements, and she felt almost in sync with him. She didn't even feel like this with Alya – she wasn't sure she'd even truly achieved this with Adrien, although they had shared something else entirely. To gel this well with a near stranger, to feel like she'd known him her whole life, it was a sensation beyond words.

“Promise you won't laugh, Marinette? I like to delve into the fantasy – something I know a lot of people tend to frown upon.”

She did indeed frown, but not for the same reason as he was anticipating. “Why should that be a problem? What's wrong with wanting to push the boundaries of reality to explore concepts that we cannot fully appreciate within our own society?”

“Spoken like a true artist,” came his weak response, reaching out across the table to squeeze the top of her hand in thanks. She didn't pull away. “Well, my story deals with a princess, as all fantasy stories should, be she a princess of a kingdom or a farm, it matters not. And naturally, with her humility, beauty and kindness,” and there, another soft squeeze, “Of course she attracted the attention of many a wandering soul. She had a purity in her heart like nobody had ever seen; but the world she lived in was a harsh, barren wasteland. It sought to crush every last shred of light it could. And so, fate tried time after time to destroy all that she stood for.”

“You know what I was saying about exploring concepts outside of our society?” Marinette teased lightly, smirking as he lightly batted the top of her hand in admonishment.

“Who's telling the story, princess?”

She playfully rolled her eyes, making a show out of letting him continue.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he smiled, rubbing his thumb very slightly against the top of her hand as he gathered his thoughts. “This princess' honesty and light attracts the very opposite of herself, a man who lives in shadows and knows nothing but hate. And although he wants nothing more than to touch the light, to caress her and worship her, he cannot. For what place does a creature of hate have at her side? She who could well walk through the gates to heaven, while he already dwells in the deepest depths of hell?”

Marinette's eyes have widened by this point, a sucker at heart for star-crossed lovers (not that she would openly admit it), and looked to him with what she hoped was polite intrigue rather than the burning curiosity she felt. “And what happens? Do they work out?”

“Nope~! You'll have to wait and read to find out.” He laughed as she pouted and pulled away, picking her coffee back up and taking a sip. “Although, naturally, there's going to be some rivalry in there somewhere. And not the friendly sort either, mind you. I find the whole kind, meaningful love interest having a rivalry with a man clearly below his station to be far too cliché. What interests me is a level playing field.”

She nodded with a quiet sound of interest, thinking about it. That was the only problem with her usual reads – they were a bit predictable. Either you wanted the kind underdog to win, or for the perfect couple to get their happily ever after. If there were two with little to differentiate them, it could certainly make things more interesting in the long run.

“Well, Félix, I wish you all the best,” she smiled warmly, placing her cup back down on the table. “And I look forward to being able to buy the first copy! Or even if you just need to talk things through, or discuss ideas, I would be more than happy to help you out.”

He thanked her for her generous offer, the conversation starting to drift in every which way. He inquired about her designs, and seemed to find her embarrassment endearing as she explained that she made the dress she was currently wearing, discussing how she struggled with getting it to sit properly on her hips without bunching in an ungainly manner around her torso. His apparently genuine interest in her work made her open up, and it wasn't too long before she had her sketch book out on the desk, idly drawing down designs as he chatted to her, the two coming up with ideas.

He lacked Adrien's specific knowledge, that was for sure, but she found his creativity more than made up for it. He helped her get ideas for putting a flair of the fantastical into her more practical designs, and they even discussed different possibilities for men's suits. He had a strong preference for reversible waistcoats, loving how the lining could hide something completely different to the exterior, and she had to admit that she wanted more practice with different types of seams and hemming.

“Waistcoats would be a nice place to start,” she concluded, folding her book back up and tucking the pencil inside to keep her place. The two of them had to part soon, both having their own chores to manage, although thanks to him she had a thousand and one ideas running rampant round her head. She could feel her fingers itching to start work, but she had a couple of designs to finish first, as much as she just wanted to let herself loose and allow the creativity to flow. “The lack of sleeves makes them an easier candidate.”

“Either way, I'm sure that whatever you create will be stunning. If you need someone to model it for you while you work on it, let me know, alright?”

He could sense immediately that he'd chosen his words without care, watching as her expression seemed to falter. Her gaze dropped to the floor a little, hand resting loosely on the table with her bag halfway up her shoulder. He cursed under his breath, moving round to stand in front of her, and reached up to brush some loose hair behind her ear.

“Marinette, I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me. I don't mean that I could, I'm not looking to replace him, I..”

“I know,” she spoke weakly, forcing herself to glance to him with as strong a smile as she could muster. He smiled faintly in response, ghosting his thumb over her cheek in a gesture of support, brushing lightly against her earring as it knocked against his finger.

“You must miss him very much.”

All her attempts at keeping the tears from her eyes failed her then, and she could feel her vision grow blurry as they broke to the surface. The guilt at having such a lovely time with Félix hit her full force and she scrunched her eyelids tightly closed, not wanting him to blame himself for her turn of emotions.

She did. She missed Adrien with all her heart. She wanted nothing more than to go home and find him there, waiting for her. Over a year with no news and still she felt unable to move on.

Although, maybe it was time for her to at least try. As she argued with herself, she had enjoyed this afternoon with Félix. They'd only met a couple of times before, certainly, but she felt relaxed in his presence. She found herself wanting to open up to him, to spill her heart to him. She wanted to learn as much about him as he seemed to want to learn about her.

Yes, he was tall, handsome and blond, and there was no denying at this point that she had a type, but he had a delicacy about him, something fragile that she wanted to nurture, something she hadn't seen so much in Adrien. Adrien had been scarred, damaged, despite how much he tried to hide it from everyone but her. Beneath it all, though, he was inherently strong. She didn't get the same feeling with Félix at all.

His hand lingered on her cheek a few moments longer than was standard, but when she opened her eyes and smiled to him everything felt all right. He let out a soft breath, dropping his hand to lightly squeeze her shoulder. “Do you want me to walk you back?”

She thought for a moment before shaking her head, thanking him for the offer. She could do with some time to sort out her thoughts, and a walk home would be perfect for that.

“Same time next week?” she offered instead, and was rewarded with him leaning down, planting a soft kiss on her cheek. When he pulled back his eyes were hooded with something she couldn't place, but he nodded nonetheless.

“Or, knowing our luck, we'll probably bump into each other before then.”

 

* * *

 

“Enjoy your evening!” Marinette called to her parents, waving as they walked out the door and down the street hand in hand, off to make the most of a well deserved night free. They had shut shop early and her father had insisted on taking her mother out for a lovely meal (which was appreciated a lot more when you both cooked for a living). Marinette was more than happy to stay in and guard the house, meaning she would be left with uninterrupted time to design and sew.

Grabbing a plate of cookies and a steaming mug of coffee she wasn't long heading up to her room, placing them down on her desk before flipping open her current sketchbook, eyeing the designs she had started working on while sat with Félix. She knew she had promised herself that she would finish off her other ones first, but a quick hour spent embellishing these sketches wouldn't cause too much harm..

Humming away to herself as her pencil ran smooth lines over the paper was one of the more soothing activities that she enjoyed, watching as skirts burst into life from the page, picturing them twirling and flowing in her mind's eye. Layers upon layers of chiffon would give that desirable volume while still being able to pack down and save on space, with a thick satin underskirt for modesty and warmth.

She reached out to her mug full of coloured pencils to pick up her warmer oranges and reds when she could have sworn she heard the sound of something crashing downstairs. Probably one of the alley cats from the neighbourhood managed to sneak in through a window she'd left ajar or something. She sighed heavily and stood, making her way off towards the source of the sound, knowing it was better to evacuate the potential bread thief before they caused too much damage.

Opening the trap door to head downstairs, however, and she was met with an entirely different and more dangerous type of cat.

She barely had a moment to take a breath before a shoulder rammed into her stomach, picking her up with ease while an arm reached up to restrain her. On instinct she made to twist in his grasp, searching for some sort of leverage, anything, but the next thing she knew she was slammed down on her chaise longue, a leather-clad hand pressed firmly to her throat. She tried to draw in a panicked breath as her gaze flicked up, meeting and holding one in a burning green.

“Chat Noir never leaves survivors,” his voice rasped out, echoing the exact same words he spoke to her over a year ago. She growled under her breath and moved to kick out at him again, a hand coming up to grip his wrist in an attempt to alleviate the pressure on her windpipe.

“So what? Come to finish what you started?” Her eyes narrowed defiantly, feeling braver than she anticipated while facing what she believed to be certain death. “Nothing more than a mangy cat, playing with its prey. Too cowardly to kill me when you had the chance? Did you enjoy seeing me suffer?”

If he seemed taken aback by her attitude he didn't show it, laughing loudly. The noise sounded harsh on her ears, a slight yowl in his throat as he did so. In that instant he sounded more cat than human, and it terrified her. Just when she thought he was loosening his grip he tightened it tenfold, leaning in close to her with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You mean like how your beloved Adrien suffered? Oh, don't you worry, mademoiselle, I remember him. Do you know why?” He leaned in closer than before, and she could feel his hot breath all over her face. She scrabbled, fingers scratching uselessly at the thick leather of his gloves, feet sliding over the chaise in a feeble attempt to lash out as her oxygen supply started to run dry. “Because he was a coward. He woke up some time later after I kidnapped him, you know, and do you know what he said? _Do you_?”

Her response was to spit in his face, although she missed his eye and only succeeded in hitting his mask. Her glare was answer enough to his seemingly rhetorical questions.

“He asked me why I hadn't killed you instead. He begged me to do an exchange, your life for his. Funny, isn't it? Most fairytale princes would offer their own life in a sacrifice to save their love's. Guess your precious model was just that – a man who knew how to fake a smile, even to the girl he supposedly loved.”

His words made her blood boil, even though she didn't believe them for one second. Adrien Agreste could never be as callous as he made him out to be. This was the man who was constantly terrified of never being good enough for those he called his friends, who always worried he'd caused offence when he said even one thing in his anger. This was the man who had been raised his whole life and been told he was nothing, only to pick himself up from the dust and prove he was worthy of love.

Adrien Agreste would never have placed his own life above anybody else's.

She wanted to scream blue murder at him, scratch at what parts of his face she could see for dirtying the name and memory of the only man she had ever, truly loved, but he was already laughing again, bracing his forearm against her throat now to free his other hand up. He almost lovingly ran his fingers through her hair that had come rough in the fight, stroking a claw down her cheek with just enough force to graze the skin, before coming to rest at her earring. He stroked his thumb tenderly over the gem, purring hollowly in the base of his throat.

“In another world, you could have been my princess. If I had taken you instead of him, we would be complete. Isn't that such sad irony? That little voice in your head that tells you to pick left instead of right? That little decision that costs you your whole future? Had only I known you were in my grasp last time, _ma chérie_. We could be living, actually _living_ , instead of the two of us chasing after dust and dreams.” The forlorn tone to his voice struck a nerve with her, unsure as to what he was alluding. He seemed almost.. Regretful. She remembered Hawk Moth's words to her before, about how Chat Noir had to shoulder the imbalances of the world. She had felt pity for him then, but faced with him in this situation, she couldn't find an ounce of it left.

His pressure on her throat had loosened just enough for her to let out another incoherent growl, all that her sore vocal cords would allow at that point, and he seemed to snap out of it.

His eyes narrowed once more, black slits a stark contrast to the luminescent green that seemed to catch and reflect every ounce of light in her room. “It doesn't matter. Plans change, _princess_ , and I have no need of you. Just your earrings, now, and everything will be as it should be. He will take them, and he will fix it all, you'll see,” he snarled, shoving her and straddling her to keep her pinned.

He raised his right hand up, and the flash of green on a ring on his hand caught her vision. He eyed his claws with the same nonchalance as a painted lady would examine her coloured nails, once more toying with her as if she meant nothing to him. “Or rather, you would see, but I'm not much in the mood for repeating my mistakes a second time. Can't have you running off to the authorities now, can we? Shouldn't you like to join your poor, sweet Adrien in the afterlife? You can thank him for all those lovely things he said to me as he bled out all over my carpet, yes? Yes? Good.”

“You're a fucking monster.”

He purred, a proud look in his eyes.

“I know, sweetie, believe me.”

And then, in slow motion before her eyes, three things happened.

Marinette, in one last act of defiance, reached up towards his raised hand, fingers stretching for the ring on his finger.

A proud call of _cataclysm_ left his lips, the hand just out of her range glowing with a black, cosmic power.

A yowl of pain erupted from above her as the weight pinning her down suddenly left her, and she drew in a much needed gasp of breath as a blur of black tackled Chat Noir to the floor, knocking her arm out of the way.

She glanced over to the floor as she shakily sat up, watching in horror as claws and feet lashed out everywhere, hissing exploding in short bursts from two black forms that scrapped like dogs on her rug.

There was a thud as one got the upper hand, his left hand pinning the burning black claws to the floor, his right hand digging in tightly round the bared throat of the loser. His back and shoulders arched, making his form seem bigger as he hissed once more, before his face turned to hers, eyes wide and the threatening air from his face dropping in a heartbeat, her name showing a silent whisper on his lips.

Her throat was killing, her heart felt ready to tear itself from her chest, and there, on the floor in the middle of her room, Chat Noir was pinned to the floor by Chat Noir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> [[Also out of curiosity, is the format of having each chapter split into two working for people? I just feel that one scene isn't long enough to merit a chapter, and normally the two are tied in in someway. If you wouldn't mind letting me know if you have any strong opinions either way, I'd really appreciate it :3]]
> 
> Edit: Woops, fixed the thing where it accidentally read "Adrien Agreste would never have placed anybody else's life above his own." like that is the complete opposite of what I meant, but it should be alright now!


	6. Interlude: Felix Culpa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a third side to every story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for anxiety, although it's in the final two segments and not covered in depth at all. Still, just a heads up!
> 
> Félix-centric chapter, this one takes place just after the prologue and shows things from another point of view.

 

The butterflies were as mesmerising as they were annoying.

Sat on the edge of the box, his hearing filled with the thousands of beating wings, it was all too simple to let his mind wonder. Fingers stroked absently against the still cheek of the red kwami beside him, and with each day that passed, he grew more and more convinced that she would not wake up. Had any human been in a coma for this long they would have been declared dead years ago, but Plagg had refused to give up hope. In one respect, that was something that he had to give him credit for. The kwami could be called many things – lazy, greedy, secretive – but callous and selfish were not traits he carried with him.

His touch stilled on Tikki, so he'd been told she was called, when he heard a groan from the body dumped in the corner. His green gaze flicked over as the lump twitched, moved slightly, yet didn't seem to awaken. He didn't know how long he was expected to wait, really, considering this was the first time he'd used Cataclysm without the intention of killing his victim. Plagg had been his usual cryptic self and just said “he'll wake when he'll wake” before floating out through one of the grates above them in search of food.

He'd never wanted much from life, really. He'd never been anything but average – he had mediocre grades in school, could play nothing much aside from Frère Jacques on the piano, had a smattering of English that he used near the train station whenever he wanted some donations. Even before he'd been given the costume he was no better than an alley cat, scraping together what bits he could to try and sell for enough money to eat each night. Life in Alsace had been rough, but steady. His decision to chase his dreams in Paris had left him flat on his face.

Robbed blind and tossed out on the streets to rot, Félix had become just a face that nobody paid attention to or remembered. A torrid love affair with a woman who took everything from him when she wanted for nothing, and the eloquent young author, the eligible eastern bachelor, became no more than a distant memory.

One thing he had gained from the whole experience, however, was perspective. He may no longer have a house or money or the ability to guarantee a meal each day, but he had all his limbs. Aside from malnutrition, he had a functioning body. Just because he had lost his chance to mingle in well-to-do society, it didn't mean he hadn't picked up the rules that governed the darker side of life.

When he found a ring in a pile of trash in one of his favourite haunts, he had believed he'd struck gold. It was made of solid metal, plain, as if it had once carried a gem in its body, but it would no doubt sell well enough to feed him for days, perhaps even weeks. He had cradled it close to him, not wanting to lose this precious ticket to an easier life, and scurried away to his alcove that he had claimed as his own space.

He'd put it on for the sake of it, wanting to see what it would look like on his hand, and had most certainly not been expecting the small cat god to come whizzing out of it and thump him in the chest.

It was one thing to be told by people passing in the street that you were the scum of the earth and barely deserved the right to breathe.

It was a different thing entirely to be told by a millennia old deity that you were hand-picked to carry on a conflict that, for the most part, took place under the radar.

“You'll have to renounce your name,” the little black cat had told him, “Your friends and family and everything you own.”

Félix had merely spread his arms in gesture to the screwed up paper he used to lie on, and responded with a “Consider it done.”

And so the young writer had devoted ten years of his life to hunting down butterflies that took every ounce of negativity within a person's soul before corrupting it into something far more violent and painful.

He had been told that, thanks to the Miraculous, he was given a sort of immunity to the effects of these Akuma, although it wasn't permanent. The hatred and anger and fear and everything that he suffered would chip away at his walls little by little, watching, waiting for an opportunity to take root in his heart and spread their wings.

Traditionally speaking, a Chat Noir didn't retire. It was a job for life, and if old age didn't take them out, then fighting at a disadvantage due to age or injury surely would. It had been Plagg's decision to try things out differently, considering that these were interesting times they were living in.

No Chat Noir had ever had to bear the absence of a Ladybug, his inherent bad luck _and_ a store room full of corrupted emotions before. The kwami was certainly surprised that Félix had even lasted ten years, considering all he was faced with.

For Félix, ten years wasn't long enough. He didn't want to return to normality, not knowing what he did about the world in the shadows.

“You're thinking again.”

He looked up at the sound of Plagg's voice, his one true companion this last decade, as the kwami floated over to him while struggling under the weight of half a baguette. Félix didn't ask how he had managed to steal something that big without being seen, but he was hardly going to complain. When Plagg dropped it into his waiting hand he split it into three, returning the biggest chunk to the kwami before taking the smallest piece for himself. The third would be something for the boy to eat when he finally woke up.

“You grind your teeth when you're lost in thought,” the kwami in question continued, coming and sitting on his shoulder as he nibbled on his piece of bread. “What's eating you, Fé?”

“Just..” He frowned, waving a hand at it all. The dark cellar. The damp. The smell of decay. Those little butterflies that had buried their way into his thoughts with their buzzing that he swore he would never forget.

“And here I was thinking you were feeling guilty about that girl you hurt and left lying in the alleyway. You start getting sentimental on me and I'm never going to be able to let you go, you do realise this? In all my years and you're the first kitten I'm re-homing.” Plagg stopped eating his bread to fix his beady green gaze on Félix, who was staring at his own piece of food that sat untouched in his hands. He was trying not to think on the girl, he really was.

Of course he knew who she was. They'd been stalking his replacement for months, ever since Plagg had decided that he couldn't risk hurting Félix any more, ever since he announced that he had spotted the prime candidate.

His replacement was attractive, confident, wealthy and hard working. He competed in national level fencing competitions, tutored Mandarin Chinese in his spare time, and volunteered at children's hospitals. He had left the side of the father he felt controlled by, and had somehow still managed to keep his life afloat.

He was everything Félix was not, and everything he felt insecure about. When Plagg had announced that this was the man he wanted as his next Chat Noir, Félix had felt the cold stab of jealousy in his chest.

He started to doubt. Maybe Plagg had just grown bored of him, used the presence of the Akuma as an excuse to get rid of him. Like he had said many times, he was the first Chat Noir to be let go, to retire. Maybe there was a reason he was the first. Perhaps he was just such a disappointment that he broke the unspoken rules.

When the opportunity had arisen to take Adrien Agreste away, he hadn't been banking on the presence of his girlfriend. He knew about her, of course he did, he'd seen her face in the newspapers and gossip magazines that got chucked to the street. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the kind-hearted nobody that the famous model had fallen head over heels for. He'd seen photos of her smiling face, eyes always so bright and alert, and he'd not been able to find it in him to care when Plagg informed him they would be making the model disappear.

Nobody had noticed when Félix disappeared. Nobody had cared that that blond man who hung around the train station had vanished for apparently no reason. They only cared when Chat Noir started killing, when he took people they recognised and gave two francs for. When he killed the butcher, they lamented the loss of a hard worker. When he took the artist into his claws, it was the waste of such potential.

The model couldn't just disappear without a trace, or questions would be asked. They could, however, 'kill' him. Such a loss of a pretty face, they would cry, oh how the world has been deprived of such a sight!

When he looked into Marinette Dupain-Cheng's red and swollen eyes, glaring up at him from the alley while he carried her lover on his shoulder, he had not expected to see such pure and unadulterated hurt there. There was fear, pain, and anger, but they culminated into such raw anguish that he had felt taken aback. He had taken her for nothing more than some wretch trying to milk off her boyfriend's charity, and when he realised the full weight of the emotions she felt for his successor, he had felt conflicted. He had opened his mouth with the intention of saying something comforting, wanting to promise her it wasn't all as bad as it looked.

_Listen up, mademoiselle. Chat Noir doesn't leave survivors. You got lucky. You pretended to be dead, and I left you alone. You got it?_

Before he knew it the words had poured from his lips like a poorly written script, so far from his original intentions. _You got lucky. You never have to know the pain of betrayal when your partner breaks your heart_.

And she had stared up at him in defiance, holding on with the last shreds of her strength with the narrow-minded determination and intention of making sure he lost nights of sleep with the guilt of his actions.

 _I may as well be dead when you've taken from me the one thing I treasure most_.

He didn't think her face would ever leave his memory. Not a single one of his poor victims had succeeded in leaving such a lasting impression on him as she had.

Plagg made a noise of curiosity and left his shoulder as the sounds of stirring could be heard, and Félix regretfully drew his thoughts back to the present, glancing round as his hostage struggled up a little, hissing as his hand immediately went to his side. The cataclysm he'd used had been very mild, but it had still left a large burn along his body. He knew it was petty but it satisfied him to know he had left the model with a rather hefty blemish.

He stepped over to him and watched as the younger man's eyes widened in growing realisation, whole body growing tense. He may not be transformed as Chat Noir, but it didn't take much for this stranger to put two and two together, it seemed.

“What did you do to Marinette?” Félix raised a brow at that, surprised that the first words that came out of his mouth were inquiring about the well-being of his girlfriend. Perhaps he really had misinterpreted the honesty and depth of their relationship. “I swear, if you've hurt her-”

“She's fine,” Plagg interrupted, and the elder man felt a sense of glee as he saw the other pale with the realisation that a black creature the size of his fist was talking to him. The kwami dropped down to float at the same height to his face while Félix remained standing, shuffling a little to balance his weight on the balls of his feet.

Adrien's mouth opened and closed as he floundered for a moment, not sure what to say or what even to focus on. Félix only felt a small amount of pity for him, fiddling with the ring that would only sit on his finger for a short hour or so more. Very soon it would be time for him to be kicked out, and for a new Chat Noir to rise.

“Why did you bring me here?” Adrien asked eventually, glancing between the human and the creature. Plagg folded his arms and closed his eyes, looking solemn.

“Because you have been chosen for a task of great importance. Look around you, Agreste, and tell me, what do you see?”

There was a short silence as Adrien slowly did as he was asked, confusion evident on his face as he saw the jars that lined the walls. “Butterflies.”

“Wrong. Félix, if you would?”

The man nodded, resting his weight on one foot as he looked down at the man whose matching green gaze locked on to his own. A distant part of his mind wondered if Plagg had chosen him based on looks alone. “These are what we call Akuma. When people are strongly affected by a negative emotion, they become prime targets for these creatures, who feed on that negativity in exchange for power. The results are, as you can imagine, catastrophic.”

“But there are hundreds, here, thousands even. I've never heard of these afflicted people at all. Why not?”

“Plagg, this guy here, can sense when an Akuma has found a new host. We make with all haste to stop them before the collateral damage gets to a noticeable state.”

“Funnily enough,” Plagg added, coming to rest up on Félix's shoulder once more, “Most of them just seem intent on taking our Miraculous, rather than causing mass havoc. A distinct change in behaviour to how it used to be. I guess that's just one more thing that's different without Ladybug around.”

They could see Adrien's mouth form around that name, glancing between them as things slowly started to sink in. The kwami nodded and turned to Félix, gesturing for him to take a walk with him. The man seemed confused but nodded, making his way down the length of the hall and leaving their guest to get his bearings a moment.

“I think I can take it from here, kid.” The endearment resonated with him, despite the fact that he was no youngster any more. He smiled weakly, arms folded defensively across his chest. Even though they'd been discussing it for some time, he wasn't sure he was ready for this.

“So this really is goodbye, huh? You sure you don't have enough space in that black little heart of yours for two kittens?”

Plagg let out an uncharacteristic chuckle and leaned forward, ruffling his tiny paw through some loose strands of hair on his Chosen's head. “I barely had the energy for one of you, let alone two. I just want you to be safe, Fé, you understand that right? If I didn't fear for what these Akuma are doing to your sanity I'd keep you with me til the end of your days, and I-”

“I know, Plagg,” Félix smiled, cupping the kwami in his hands, and bringing him to cradle him against his chest, head bowed. “I just.. I've never been good at goodbyes.”

“I took ten years of your life, kid. Now go out there and make the most of what you have left, you hear me?”

It was harder than either of them cared to admit to say goodbye, and Félix could feel his hand trembling as he slipped the ring from his finger, holding it out to the little kwami who quickly moved to take the weight into his paws.

“I'll keep an eye out for you. I know we didn't find anything incriminating regarding that Hawk Moth fellow, but he still seems suspicious to me,” he promised, Plagg nodding in response. They'd stumbled across a message etched into a few alleyways around Paris signed by one Hawk Moth, spouting what seemed to be random propaganda, though the two had decided to try and track him down any way. They'd found a curious man, an oddity to be sure, and although he surrounded himself with butterflies Plagg had confirmed that he could sense no Miraculous on the man. Still, neither one of them were completely content to give him the all clear just yet.

“Once this kid's been shown the ropes I'll make sure he keeps a tag on him, too. I'll come visit you, Fé, I promise.”

The man in question nodded, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“I'll miss you, Plagg.”

“I'll miss you too, kid. Now go on, scram, before I change my mind and keep you here forever! There's a little bag for you by the door – consider it my thanks to you.”

The cat god was quick to usher him out then, not wanting to prolong their parting, and as Félix turned his back on his most trusted friend he felt an emptiness carve itself into his heart. He found the bag Plagg had mentioned, loaded with coins that the little kwami must have collected on his ventures. Coins, money, an attempt to help give him a fresh start. It was enough to bring him to tears, but he pushed them away and hurried out and into the moonlit sky outside. In a few hours, the sun would rise, and for the first time in a long time, he was utterly, entirely alone.

 

* * *

 

It hadn't been as hard as he anticipated to find work. An elderly couple had posted an advertisement for someone to assist them with their physical tasks, and he had been only to eager to comply. They had taken pity on him and given him lodgings and payment, and although he still did a lot of chores for them they made sure he had time left to pursue his passion. He had not written in years, finding no inspiration during his morbid duties as Chat Noir, and found only sparse and empty plots came to mind. He loathed what he wrote, more often than not tearing the pages and stuffing them in the waste, out of sight and out of mind.

His experiences had made him bitter, and he mourned the loss of that carefree young man who had turned to the magnitude of the city as a means to achieving his dreams. Plagg's warnings about the Akuma struck home, and he feared for just how much the negativity had scarred his soul.

The nightmares were the hardest part to deal with. Before he had had Plagg with him, a soothing touch and a few kind words enough to help support him through the aftershocks of blind terror. Here he had nothing, not wanting to disturb his elderly landlords over horrific memories that he could never explain.

How could he tell these two lovely people who had taken him in when nobody else would that he was the 'serial killer' everyone feared?

Still, he was sick of waking up each night in a cold sweat, hunched over and hugging himself until his breathing calmed, unable to do nothing but wait while the bile settled in his stomach and his vision evened out from the tunnel-focus of _run_.

He found himself silently wishing for something, anything, that could help take the pain away. He was tired, exhausted to the bone or constantly being afraid of being alone and letting his thoughts take matters into their own hands.

And so at the crack of dawn each morning he would sit at his desk, and he would write, and he would crumple and he would bin. Each and every day, stuck in a mindless routine, heedless of the butterfly that hovered by his window.

 

* * *

 

The day he was knocked to the floor by a stranger was the best day of his life.

He opened his eyes to the sound of someone groaning at the impact, and felt his chest contract in realisation at who it was that sat before him,

Hair so black it was almost blue was pulled back into neat pigtails, cheeks rosy red from embarrassment even before she realised what was happening. Her eyes opened slightly as she came to her senses, irises so clear and bright they could challenge the sky with their beauty. Bags of what looked like fabric lay strewn about her, and he scrambled to his feet before holding a hand out to her.

 _I ruined your life with this hand_.

And then she looked at him and the expression on her face was one of pure joy, barely contained behind a screen of hesitation.

_A-Adrien..?_

What scars had managed to heal were torn open anew, and he could feel his eyes widen in alarm. One name was all it took to remind him that he wasn't good enough for the one friend he had, the one friend that had used to him to help find his own replacement.

He was not the man she was looking for, not the man her heart belonged to even after all this time. He could feel that budding panic of insecurity in his chest and forcefully shoved it aside to deal with later. He introduced himself, speaking with her, trying to convince himself that all was normal. There was a sadness she only carried with her in her eyes, that even when he made her laugh he was unable to swipe away.

He did this. He broke this poor woman, this beautiful person who was more than willing to offer him her friendship when he didn't deserve it. He felt wretched asking for it, playing her like the filth he was. She was so innocent and unknowing and just talking to her felt like he was violating some unspoken trust.

He couldn't believe himself when he brought the attack up to her face, keeping it sounding like a question even though he knew for a fact it was true.

And then he slipped her his address.

And then she kissed his cheek.

They'd parted in mutual embarrassment, but he found himself desperate to see her again. He made the journey home on a high that gradually dropped and dropped before plummeting to rock bottom as he slapped the door to his room shut with a solid swing.

He threw himself face down on his bed and pulled his pillow to his face, pressing down as deep as he dared while he struggled to take in a ragged breath.

He was a disgrace, a despicable creature. How could he seek to stand by her side when he was the reason she would forever live with such pain?

He hated himself. He hated himself more than he'd hated anything in his life. His mediocrity, his family, his girlfriend who took it all and the city that kicked him down time and time again. He hated himself more than he hated having to kill day after day to spare people from the wretched Akuma that would not rest until they bled this city dry.

He didn't notice the butterfly slipping in through the crack in his window frame. He didn't feel it crawl over his skin before diffusing into his body in a puff of black smoke.

He didn't notice the darkening of his vision as a voice resonated deep within his skull.

“Chat Noir you once were, and Chat Noir you shall be again. I can help make all your pain and worries disappear.. But in return, I need a favour from you, involving a girl that I believe you know of quite well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now you know what happened to Adrien and sort of why there are currently two Chats Noirs scrapping it out in Marinette's bedroom.  
> Félix pretty much wrote himself - chatting with some of you I realised I wanted to know how he worked, and then this happened. (PS this is the longest chapter yet xD good on you Félix!  
>  _Also I promise I totally wasn't freaking out when I realised I'd forgotten all my plans as to who Hawk Moth is and why he does what and stuff and I still don't know but shhhh_
> 
> And now is as good a place as any to try and explain my pun with Félix's surname, Doublié:  
> Oublié is French for "forgotten", and if we remove the i Doublé means "doubled". I basically wanted to allude to the fact that he is overlooked by his mostly-identical counterpart. I'm not a pun master, far from it.


	7. A Tale of Two Kitties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien learns that seeing your troubles at face value doesn't always bring the perspective you want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last chapter detailing things from Félix's POV, I just had to get a bit from Adrien's in here too. This chapter takes place just before the end of Chapter 5 and details the happenings afterwards (aka a bit of build up to the two Chats meeting and how things unfurl from there.)
> 
> Also I apologise for the fact that I write 1xChat Noir + 1xChat Noir = 2xChats Noirs, but when you do a degree in French Language the grammar sort of rubs off on you. Pronounce it however you like, I just can't bear to write it any differently ^^;
> 
> Warnings for mentions of blood and stuff, nowhere near as gore-filled as I had originally planned this fic to be but mentions nonetheless!

 

“Adrien.”

He grumbled, curling up tighter on his side and pressing his knees to his stomach, wanting the interruption to leave him alone. He'd only just managed to drop to sleep after capturing a rather tricky Akuma, ( _Adrien_ ), he was exhausted, he wasn't having nightmares for once, the butterflies weren't whispering to him and _could that little rat just leave him alone for five minutes-_

“Adrien, I swear on my mother's whiskers if you do not wake up right this second..”

He hesitated just a moment (mother? Plagg had a mother?) before yelping as something sharp bit the rim of his ear, clapping a hand up to it defensively but the little demon had already swooped out of the way, diving back in to headbutt his side with all the force his tiny body could muster.

“What was that for?! Can't a guy get a good cat-nap in peace around here?”

“There's another Akuma.”

His kwami's serious words, normally so laid back and lazy, stopped him mid-turn as he made to curl up away from him. His head whipped round and he frowned, green eyes narrowing as he noticed the genuinely concerned look on his companion's face. Plagg was never, well, worried, not like this. Whatever Akuma this was, it must be big.

He pushed himself up and ran a rough hand across his face, doing his best to dispel what sleep he could from his thoughts, feeling the kwami's impatience as he buzzed and flitted from side to side, and he could almost envisage his hackles standing on end. “Talk to me. What is it, attacking innocents?”

“Yes.”

That really did pull him up short, turning to him with a look of disbelief. “They've not attacked civilians before, not since you picked me up.”

“Well this one's about to, and you really want to be hurrying.”

He nodded and darted to his feet, not even bothering to cram some leftover bread into his mouth before holding his hand out, speaking the words to pull Plagg to him and bind them as one. The kwami barely resisted the tug, practically diving in of his own accord, and he felt his exhaustion lift as his body became coated in his leathery second skin, senses heightened and adrenaline pulsed through his veins.

He was quick to slip out of the cellar, silently sliding the bolt of the door shut behind him, and glanced up to see the moon quickly drawing in over the sky, and relished in the stronger night vision his transformation granted him. Plagg's grasp of the Akuma's presence flickered somewhere in the back of his mind, feeling almost like the inherent pull of a magnet, and soon enough he was darting for the nearest wall, quickly finding purchase in the rough surface and bounding up in a few easy motions.

Soaring over the rooftops was a far more preferable form of transport in comparison to sneaking through alleys where he had to take care not to knock into anyone or be seen or catch the eye of some dog lazing out in a garden somewhere. It was all too easy to knock against some litter, some empty glass bottle that rattled and sounded deafening in the quiet of the evening. Crossing roads as late night taxis passed him by was even more of a hindrance, so as long as he could make the most of the deserted upper level of his city, he would.

He adjusted his course at a little nudge from Plagg, twisting elegantly mid-jump to propel himself off the edge of the roof before him and divert himself to the street perpendicular to it. Under his sure-footed steps no distance was too great, and he could soon feel the presence of the Akuma himself, running at an equal speed. He frowned and ducked his head down a little, increasing his stream-lined momentum as the two seemed to move in tandem before, suddenly, the other stopped.

Either it had found what it was looking for or it had taken a nap, and he wasn't the embodiment of misfortune for nothing.

Rounding the corner to an ever strengthening pull he felt his gut drop at the building that came into his sights, one he knew so well from lazy summer evenings spent on the balcony and cold winter nights curled up in the bed underneath.

_No, please, if there's one good thing to happen to me in my life let it not be in this place.._

He saw her head pass the window as she went towards where he knew her trapdoor would be, and a split second later she was thrown back, something black gripping round her neck. He pelted hell for leather towards her balcony, chest burning as if he couldn't get enough air, because he was pretty sure he was in the midst of a panic attack at the mere notion that there was an Akuma attacking his beloved Marinette, and why her? Had he not been careful at hiding himself away? Did they somehow know what she was to him, that he would do anything to keep her safe?

He landed on her balcony and tugged the trap door open as quickly as he could, dropping through it and landing on her bed with knees bent, silent. The two individuals in the room likely wouldn't have noticed him even if he had sent her ornaments or lamp flying, however, and his heart locked up as he saw his own gloved claws digging in to her neck, her eyes unfocused as she struggled to get enough breath to sustain her resisting body.

No time to ask himself why there was an identical Chat Noir, he heard the mention of his destructive power and saw her hand reach up and knew a second was a luxury he couldn't afford. He launched himself from the slightly raised level of her room and dug his shoulder into the other Chat, sending them both tumbling roughly to the floor. He felt a guttural hiss tear from his throat as claws dragged at his torso, and he lashed out with his legs and arms alike in an attempt to keep this imposter from landing a worthwhile blow. He barely caught sight of the black energy sweeping towards him and his hand shot out, gripping his wrist and slamming it to the floor, the rest of his body quickly moving to keep him in place.

Satisfied that he wasn't in immediate danger his head shot round to make sure she was all right, and he felt his heart stop again for an entirely different reason.

He'd watched her from afar on a number of occasions, but seeing her within the same room as him, face flushed from exertion, hair loose and tangled and eyes bright and wide and wet and he could feel himself falling for her all over again. For a sweet moment he could pretend that they had just been reunited, that all was well and he would hold her and promise that he'd never leave her again, and oh how he'd missed her, and no more would he have to sleep alone in the damp and worry for how she was doing.

A hissing below him reminded him that none of that could be real, and he reluctantly turned his gaze back to his mirror image before him – his “Copycat”, so to speak. The taint of the Akuma felt strong here, which meant that he'd definitely caught his butterfly, but he just couldn't work out why they would take his form, of all things.

Then again, it wasn't _quite_ his form, was it? The jaw was sharper, face altogether thinner, eyes just a little darker than his own. He felt something like regret niggle somewhere back in his mind, and he wished he could understand where it was coming from. Was it something Plagg was feeling? Had he done something to cause this?

A brief memory of an older man standing over him in that cellar came to mind, and his eyes widened imperceptibly in alarm even as the other Chat's narrowed, glaring hateful daggers into him, only reaffirming that sudden stab of recognition. It couldn't be..

“What is going on here?” Marinette's teary voice cut through their thoughts as both men turned to look at her once more, noting the way she had stood up from the chaise, arms defensively curled around her body even as she took a step closer to them. “Who are you, and why won't you stop hounding my life? Ever since you took him from me, I've seen you, sometimes, watching me from the shadows. I told myself it was just my imagination, but it wasn't, was it? You've had me marked since the day you let me go. Why do you insist on hurting me more?”

Adrien's neutral expression faltered, feeling wretched as he realised that his desire to see her safe had only succeeded in unsettling her. Of course she was going to feel threatened with him following her – what else could that possibly mean after all she'd seen?

The man underneath him squirmed and hissed a little, looking far from impressed, though shot an imploring gaze at the one holding him down. “I need her, kid. She's my ticket to freedom. Bring those earrings to him, he said, and all will be fine. We'll be free, kid – no more nightmares, no more curse. We can live our lives again. Don't you want that? Don't you?”

“What happened to you?” Adrien murmured lowly, unable to hide the tinge of pain in his voice. That had to be Félix, his predecessor, Plagg's steadfast companion for over a decade. The kwami said he had let him go to protect him from the effects of the congregation of trapped Akuma, but it seemed things hadn't gone accordingly to plan. There was a mania to his voice, speaking quickly and disjointedly as if he was unaware of what it was he was saying, picking up thoughts as they passed his mind and clinging to them like a lifeline.

“The earrings, boy – the earrings. You were so close to them all the time, so close to waking her up and you _just didn't know_. It doesn't matter, now. They can go back in that box, all of them, he'll keep them safe. We won't need them again, nobody will, no more badness, no more hate, no more imbalance because they'll be together in that box where they can't ruin anything ever again-”

“A box?” Marinette's soft voice broke through his ramblings, frowning as she reached up to cup a hand over her ear. Three people had made comments or brought particular attention to her painfully plain earrings – Hawk Moth, Félix, and now the first of the two Chats Noirs. What was it about her earrings that were so important? Why would they drive a man to attack her just to have them? “Do you mean the box that Hawk Moth has?”

The calmer Chat shot her an alarmed and suspicious look as the other laughed triumphantly, eyes wide with pupils dilated, writhing under him as he fought to get free. “Him! He'll make everything better! Take the ring, keep it safe, lock all the badness back away!”

“Félix,” Adrien spoke, solidly but calmly, ignoring the way Marinette froze at his words. “I need you to listen to me. I know you're in there, somewhere, I know you can hear me. Plagg says you have to fight this – we need to get the earrings to Tikki, and you don't know what would happen to Tikki if you give in to whoever is putting these thoughts in your head.”

“Plagg? He never cared for me, kid. The second _you_ showed up on the scene, he was all too eager to shove me aside.” Adrien could feel Plagg shrinking away in the back of his consciousness, guilty about how his actions must have seemed, holding on to the knowledge that this was an akumatised kitten speaking like this, and not Félix in his entirety. He tried to ignore the fact that those sentiments still had to be buried within his being somewhere to be dragged out like this. Félix started to thrash under him once more, his emotions growing wild and his motions erratic, hatred and jealousy and world-weariness culminating into one wild storm that he needed to let free. “And now you leave me no choice but to take your Miraculous and that liar and throw them back into the box where they belong!”

He wasn't prepared for the searing pain as Félix jolted his head up, smashing his forehead into Adrien's nose, and he recoiled reflexively as he brought his hand up to his face at the sudden onslaught of blood, unwittingly letting the Cataclysm'd hand loose in the process.

The next thing he knew his back hit the ground hard, a knee dug firmly in his chest, and a clawed hand came sweeping through the air, black energy pulsing wildly and coming far too close to his face-

It was batted aside by a small crocheted doll, disintegrating on impact and meaning that while the claws of the glove still tore through his bare cheek like he had paper for skin, it remained on the surface and didn't completely destroy the rest of his body with it.

Félix positively howled with rage, moving to lash out again, but his cry of anger turned into a gurgle as a strong arm locked around his throat, latching on tightly and not letting go. Adrien didn't have time to think about it as he reached up and took hold of his double's hands, locking his fingers tightly around them to stop him from fighting his new attacker off, and quickly wrapped his legs around his waist to hold him still. When his eyes rolled into his head and he dropped limply in her arms, only then did Marinette let go and leave him to slump over Adrien's body, bringing her hands to her mouth and stepping back in fear.

“Oh god. Oh my god. I just- Man. Throat. Strangled. Is he dead? No, no no no, nonono I cannot have killed him I can't be a murderer I just, he was going to hurt you, and you seemed to be wanting to save me, and-”

“Marinette, shh,” Adrien rolled the unconscious man off his body and was quick to stand, making his way to her before she backed away quickly, back hitting wall and cutting off any further escape route. He froze solid, blood turning icy as he realised that she was afraid of him. Of course she would be, he was Chat Noir, after all.

He stepped back and held his hands up placatingly, showing her that he wouldn't step any closer to her. She didn't relax but she didn't grow more agitated, which he took as a victory, no matter how small.

“How do you know my name?”

He shook his head, not wanting to delve into that. A deep part of him ached to tell her who he was, but how could he? She might only lock up in fear to discover that he had become the next killer, that the lives of innocent men, women and children stained his paws. And then, of course, he would have to explain why he hadn't told her he was alive, not even a note. With the shock and stress she was under right now, it would do neither of them any favours to drop that bombshell on her.

“It doesn't matter. What I need you to do now, however, is to trust me.”

She stared him down, eyes desperately searching his for something, anything. He had saved her life, and she had saved his, so there had to be something in the back of her mind that was considering it.

“How can I?”

He looked down to Félix, seeing his chest move slowly with each faint breath, and glanced up to her out of the corner of his eye. “This man here is just an ordinary civilian, an ordinary man with an ordinary life who has been forced to do evil things by circumstances beyond his control. I can't help him, but I believe you can.”

“But why me?” She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes once more. She was so tired and frightened and didn't know what to expect any more. “What makes me so special that you can't just leave me to live my life? Why do you keep expecting to be able to take and take from me until I have nothing left to give? You took away my lover, you took away my confidence, my self-belief, my security. Would you take away my life as well?”

The look on her face broke his heart anew and he wished he could step to her and take her hands in his and give her a real reason to trust him.

“Those earrings you wear.. We have reason to believe they're a Miraculous – the Miraculous of Ladybug, to be precise. She's been missing for a long time, and, well..” He smile sheepishly, letting just a hint of his old smile show through under the blood that was slowly burning in his cheek. “I could really use her help. Only she can purify the corruption, and this is one more life I'd rather not lose unnecessarily.”

He watched her look down to Félix, could almost see her mind whizzing as it tried to process all the information he had given her. He yearned to know what she was thinking, but while her face may once have been an open book to him he found all her thoughts tightly locked out of sight.

After what felt like an age, she opened her mouth with a voice that carried a tenderness he hadn't expected. “You said his name was Félix?”

He nodded.

“I.. I think I know him,” she smiled weakly, and he could see something starting to shine in her eyes. A determination, a purpose. “He's a writer. He always looked so sad, even if he tried to hide it. I once love someone just the same.. He thought nobody was watching, but I always saw it.”

That “once” hurt him more than any blow could have, and he didn't know how to feel about the fact that she might finally have accepted that he was gone when they were faced with the opportunity for it to be otherwise. He held a hand out to her, pushing it aside for now, and looked to her earnestly.

“Will you help me save him?”

She took one step, two steps, and then her hand was in his. He looked to her, and she let the tears fall with a reassuring, bonafide Marinette smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How did Plagg not sense the akuma before? Maybe it was lying dormant, maybe the previous, more active akuma was taking his attention, or maybe this amateur made yet another continuity error. Who knows?
> 
> Also, just to highlight the fact that this is chapter 7/10 - yes, I have finally succeeded in planning out an end to this story. (Sure my notes for this chapter were _M is like wtf I just want my life back, F is all dem earrings bro and A is like fuck fuck no pls_ but stuff happened and that's what mattered).  
>  From what I can gather we're fairly evenly split between Félinette and Adrinette shippers, and half of you are going to hate me for the ending to this, I can tell.
> 
> Also if there's any huge errors please let me know, my contact lenses are dissolving so I haven't proof read it but like hell was I going to sit on this during uni tomorrow when I could have it uploaded.


	8. Rise, Ladybug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All it needs is a touch of destiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all I am so so sorry in the delay with this. Basically the Origins episodes broke me, and then Jackady triple broke me (I'm not even kidding I got into trouble at uni for bursting out laughing because I just remembered FLAP FLAP FLAP and oh god) and then when I finally came to write it I got halfway through and my laptop crashed an apparently my save hadnt saved and just ;-;
> 
> But anyway, here you go! The next two chapters hopefully shouldn't be tooooo far behind, and I'm quite looking forward to them :)

Marinette could feel her heart racing in sync with the near constant thrumming of butterfly wings. Rows upon rows of jars, bottles, containers, all shapes and sizes and stuffed into every nook and cranny possible. She raised the lantern in her hand a little higher, watching the dark purple creatures shy away from the light, and frowned. Chat Noir had given her it to use out of courtesy, explaining that he never normally needed the assistance to see, so she imagined that the butterflies must not be used to the harsh glow.

She vaguely wondered whether Chat Noir had a larger collection of butterflies than Hawk Moth, but quickly decided that it would be impossible to count.

She heard a grunt and spun round to glance to her left, seeing the Chat Noir with blood on his face secure a knot around the other's limbs, arms pinned behind his back and legs crossed, tied around his calves in an attempt to hold him in place. When he regained consciousness he didn't want him to lash out at them, knowing that the longer an akuma possessed someone, the stronger their powers grew. He didn't want to risk being overpowered by Félix, not wanting to give him a second chance to hurt Marinette.

Adrien caught sight of her watching him and smiled weakly, straightening and stepping over to her. He watched her flinch and hesitate and paused in his step, though once she relaxed a little more he closed the distance, coming to stand beside her. His eyes dilated a little in the amber glow from the lantern, feeling his feline pupils constrict in an attempt to block out some of the light. She murmured a quick apology and lowered it, looking back around her in awe.

“Are these.. Akuma?” She'd heard of them, but to see them in the flesh.. How could something so small and unassuming cause such pain and havoc? How could there be one physically inside Félix, corrupting him to the point that he had tried to kill her for the sake of her earrings?

Chat Noir nodded, ears flicking back a little as he stepped over to one of the jars, picking it up and showing it to her. The butterfly was flapping its wings wildly, bouncing against the glass in a manic attempt to flee from him. He raised it to his eyes and she watched as his face distorted from the other side of the glass, pupils blown wide in a manner that made him look anything but human.

“I still.. Don't really get it, myself. They sink into people and turn them evil, control them, manipulate their fears and darkest emotions until they're all but consumed. My kwami told me we all have them growing in us, however – that girl you were jealous of in school because she was prettier than you? That co-worker that got promoted when you didn't? The hatred you feel when you glance in a mirror because all you see is a disappointment who wasn't even good enough to keep your family around? That father who would gladly see you dead the moment you stop serving his purpose?” He frowned, eyes darkening a moment before he made a noise of disgust, putting the jar back down quickly and stepping away from it. Plagg was right – being exposed to them for so long made him vulnerable to his darker mood swings, and he wasn't about to inflict that on her. “Every bit of envy or sadness or fear that you allow to fester has the potential to become an akuma. For the most part, it's natural. The ones you see here are artificial and crude and abhorrent. The ones you see here are what Ladybug is needed for.”

She nodded silently, blue gaze trained on him steadily. His actions and reactions hadn't gone unnoticed. Unconsciously she reached up to touch her earring, mind running over what he had tried to explain. Ladybug.. Could she really be an unawakened Ladybug? Were her earrings actually a Miraculous, one they'd been searching for for some time? It all seemed too.. Well, too unlikely. She may have the earrings, but she was no Ladybug. The stories had pegged her to be a strong, courageous individual, capable of righting wrongs and fighting evil. Throughout history she was a recurring figure who slayed tyrants and spared innocents, and although she may have the right heart for the job, she was somewhat lily-livered. All she wanted was a quiet life, a little house in the country with two-point-four kids, a couple of dogs, and to live out the rest of her days with-

“Why did you go to Hawk Moth?”

His question caught her completely off guard and she turned to look at him, noting the way he still held tension in his body. The tip of his tail was twitching in agitation, weight shifting between his feet, though his gaze was fixed firmly on her face, unblinking.

“He offered to help me. I was looking for closure and nobody else wanted anything to do with me. When he contacted me, I took him up on it.” She could see him bristle slightly at that, unhappy with her words, and the fact that he reacted like that made a bubble of irritation bloom in her chest. Why should he care what she did with her time or who she saw?

“That man is a monster,” he growled lowly, and she narrowed her eyes angrily in response.

“At least he's not a murderer.”

She almost regretted provoking him with the dangerous flash that lit up his eyes, the distinct shade of green burning something in her memory, and she watched him curl up slightly on himself, muscles taut and fingers clenched, his claws no doubt digging into the palm of his hand as he glared at her. She watched the twitch of his tail grow a little more manic, taking up more of the appendage with its motions, and couldn't help but take a step back from him as he opened his mouth to let rip at her.

“You think I enjoy killing?” he snarled, defensive and offended at the same time, although the aggressive tone that carried underneath didn't help her feel any pity for him. “You think it feeds some dark and vile core of my being to tear innocent people away from their brothers and sisters, parents, children, partners?! Do you have any idea how much guilt I bear knowing that they only die because I'm not capable of saving them? That I'm not _good enough_ to save them?!”

She knew she shouldn't bite back but there was something in her that couldn't resist, something that she knew she'd been harbouring for too long. Here was the man that started it all, the cause of all her grief and fear, her loss, her loneliness, the man who tore her love's life from her. The flood gates had opened and she had no intention of trying to shut them once more.

She stepped forward to him, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she refused to be intimidated by his height advantage, his face not budging an inch as she moved right into his personal space.

“You killed him, right in front of me, and hen you concussed me and left me for dead in that alley! You ruined everything! You told me the fact you left me alive made me _lucky_ , but all it did was isolate me from everyone! My family didn't know how to help me, my friends didn't. In the end they all gave up and left me – the one person who could have made anything better at all is the one you murdered!”

“Well, to tell you the truth Princess, chances are he wasn't all that good for you in the first place if he allowed himself to get akumatised.”

The resounding slap that collided with his face and whipped his head to the side was a surprise to both of them. He had to suppress a groan as it jolted his broken nose, and she was quick to pull her hand back to her chest, holding it close and staring up at him vehemently.

“Don't ever, _ever_ , talk about him like that to me. I'm only here to help you save Félix – don't presume to have the liberty to throw your sob story at me.”

She turned and marched away from him before she lost her temper and said anything else that she may come to regret, but she knew she had to keep a rein on her emotions. This wasn't like her, not at all, and while the adrenaline rush from her anger was intoxicating she was above such pettiness. She just wanted to help Félix in a manner that wouldn't involve his death, and then take him away from here. She'd hand the earrings to Chat Noir and let him find a new Ladybug, and be grateful to see him gone from her life for good.

She heard him huff before moving up beside her, silently leading her off to the back of the large room where Tikki would be lying. He hoped that they were right about their hunch. He couldn't bear to see Plagg worry much longer over his red counterpart, not to mention he wasn't sure he could take the suspense much more either.

He'd yelled at Marinette. He'd angered her, provoked her, hurt her by tearing up emotional scars while he was perhaps the only one who could heal them. All he had to do was tell her who he was – but at the same time that would risk him losing her. What if she couldn't accept his new role in life?

“I still stand by my words that Hawk Moth is a monster,” he spoke quietly, but the anger had slipped from his voice, leaving him sounding resigned. She let out a quiet sigh and her shoulders drooped a little, tension leaving her as she glanced to him with a weak smile.

“He was.. A little weird, I'll put it that way. You really think he's the man behind all this?”

“We've had a suspicion for a while, but we can't take him on. Alone I wouldn't stand a chance – the charm of being Chat Noir is carrying around baggage of terminal bad luck – and if he managed to akumatise me, I'd be done for. Having all these akuma here around me makes me vulnerable to them – I can't control my emotions. It's a matter of time. The longer I put it off, the more susceptible I become, but if I strike too soon it'll be failed from the start,” he responded quietly, flicking a glance over to some of the butterflies near them. He couldn't wait for them to all be gone, he really couldn't.

He moved forward from her when they arrived at the end of the hall, Marinette pausing in her steps at the sight of the little red form on the box before her. So small, and so strange. She'd never seen the like before. Chat Noir very tenderly ran the back of his finger over the thing's cheek, looking up to him with a softness to his gaze that she hadn't expected to see.

“It's alright,” he spoke, tilting his head for her to approach. “This is who I wanted you to meet – this is Tikki.”

“Tikki?” She frowned and took a hesitant step forward, getting a better look at it. It resembled a child's stuffed toy, and for all intents and purposes seemed to be asleep. “What.. What _is_ it?”

“She's a kwami,” he explained, gently scooping her into his hands and bringing her over to Marinette. “She's what gives Ladybug her power – the power to purify, to create, to heal. She's been separated from her Miraculous stones for a long time – my own kwami assures me that she's not dead, but she's just.. Hibernating. Like an engine without fuel.”

Marinette's heart ached seeing the tiny creature, still feeling apprehensive about the strange being but also unable to deny a sort of calling, an instinct telling her to get closer to her. She slowly reached out and stroked her cheek, eyes widening in surprise to feel the smooth texture. Not hard, but soft, and leaving an electric sort of tingle against her skin where she had made contact. Chat Noir had hissed a little in alarm, his own eyes widening in turn, staring in wonder as, for the first time since he'd seen her, Tikki twitched.

“Hold her,” he said quickly, and Marinette barely had time to fumble for her as he all but thrust her into her arms, awkwardly cradling her in her palms. Her hands were numb and tingling and the sensation was only growing, and the fact that the strange cat man stepped back from her with pricked ears didn't make her feel any more confident. She was aware of a pulsating red glow somewhere beside her cheeks that she had a horrid feeling was coming from her earrings, looking to the male with growing alarm.

“What's going on?” she cried, shaking with concern over the unknown. There was something almost ethereal pulsing through her body that seemed to be culminating in her hands, and she could feel it in her blood, heart beating rapidly and her breathing speeding up to match.

“She's waking up,” he breathed, a joy on his face with a reverence she hadn't expected. Sure enough, the small kwami blinked once, twice, before large blue eyes opened and looked up straight to Marinette's, locking onto hers. The vast expanse the colour of the sky sucked her in and Marinette went cold, knowing she was staring into a soul that had seen millennia upon millennia of history and legend, horrors and joys that mere mortals could barely even dream of.

All of a sudden the world came crashing back to her and she gasped as if finding air for the first time, watching as the bundle of red flew up from her hands and crashed into her cheek, nuzzling her for all she was worth and chirruping happily.

“A new Ladybug!” she squeaked in a voice that was far too cute and small to be of this world, pulling back and flipping through the air, buzzing with energy and excitement and looking much too awake to have just woken from a centuries long nap. Her gaze turned to the black-clad man behind her and she was quick to tackle him too, headbutting his cheek affectionately before flitting back to look over him properly. “And a new Chat Noir, too. Oh, Plagg, it's so good to know you're still here-”

A flash of green at Chat Noir's feet was all the warning Marinette got before he yelped, throwing a hand out over her face and covering her eyes, and she could quickly feel him pressed up tightly behind her, chest flush against her back. Her cheeks went red at the sudden contact, embarrassed by the invasion of her space.

“Wh-what was that for?!”

But then another voice joined in the fray, Tikki squealing for joy as a nasally male cried out her name, and Chat shuddered behind her.

“Just.. Promise me you won't turn around when I remove my hand, alright? Stare at that wall until I tell you to look, yes?”

A peculiar request but she bit her lip and nodded all the same, put off by the nervousness in his voice, only just then aware of the fact that the hand touching her skin was no longer covered in leather. His hand was warm and his skin soft, lingering a moment before letting go. She felt him move away from her and her back immediately grew cold, but true to her word, she didn't turn around. Instead she focused on the black dot that was squeezing the life out of Tikki, his little ears and tail and black complexion a sign, she took, that meant he was Chat Noir's kwami. Plagg, if she remembered correctly.

“Couldn't you have at least given me a little warning,” she heard the Chat in question grumble rhetorically somewhere off to the side behind her, the noises of clinking glass suggesting that he was rummaging around, looking for something. The black kwami flashed him a glare with startling green eyes, eventually pulling back from Tikki. The female only then took in the room around her, eyes growing sad at the sight of all the akuma bottled away.

“How long have I been dormant, Plagg?” she asked with a soft voice, noting the way his whiskers drooped sadly.

“Too long,” came his response, gaze coming to rest mournfully on the unconscious Chat Noir on the floor. He'd gone through two kittens in the absence of his partner, and it was an absence he didn't want to ever experience again. “I couldn't track down your Miraculous – I don't know how you got separated from it, but I found you in some landfill out of the city. Well, Félix and I did. He was my last Chat.”

Marinette nearly twisted round to follow his gaze to look at her friend but held herself in check, not having received the all-clear from the other Chat just yet, although Plagg's words confirmed one of her concerns. So Félix had been a Chat Noir before.. For how long? How many people had he killed? He seemed so nice and generous, she couldn't imagine him going through all of this.

She jumped at the feeling of a hand touching her arm, looking up to see that Chat Noir had found what he was looking for. A black scarf had been tied around his lower face, hiding away everything below his eyes from her, and his hair was messily swept over his forehead in an attempt to cover even more of his real identity from her. Without the ears and tail she barely would have recognised him, dressed in a simple loose shirt and trousers with scuffed boots, although he certainly looked like he'd seen better days.

“I don't mean to break up the reunion,” Chat spoke lightly, quickly dropping his hand from her arm and resting it instead on his hip, shifting his weight to the side. “But we should probably hurry up with saving Félix. I don't know how much longer he'll stay unconscious and I don't really want to have to subdue him again.”

“Of course!” Tikki nodded enthusiastically, flitting over to Marinette then and smiling comfortingly to her. “Are you ready for this?”

“No?” Marinette paled quickly, taking a step back only to feel Chat Noir's hand resting comfortably at the small of her back in an attempt to ground her. “I mean, I don't, I can't? I'm not a Ladybug – I know you all think I am, but I'm not! I'm not brave or strong or clever. What if I do it wrong? What if I hurt Félix?”

“You won't,” Chat Noir spoke, his eyes swimming with something she couldn't quite place, though the déjà vu hit her hard no matter what. “You're the perfect Ladybug because of the purity of your heart – you never back down from what is right and you're loyal, and generous, and you're you. Everything you need to be is everything you have within you already.”

She looked to him and shook her head sadly, wishing she could believe him. “You don't even know me.”

“Call it animal instincts,” came his weak reply, shrugging slightly.

Tikki shared a furtive glance with Plagg then, a miniscule nod exchanged between them, and she was quick to dart over to Marinette, whispering something in her ear. Plagg floated over his charge's shoulder, looking animatedly curious then.

“What did she say?”

“I don't..?” Marinette frowned, glancing to Tikki before turning to look at the darker kwami with a look of utter confusion. “Spots on?”

Chat Noir cackled in amusement at the sudden flash of red as Tikki darted into her earrings, Marinette yelling in surprise and alarm at the strange sensations that threatened to overwhelm her body. She could feel the static of magic licking over her skin, watching in horror as red lycra crept over her skin, swallowing her inch by inch and coating her like a chrysalis. She saw the black dots placed at random on the fabric, some dim part at the back of her wildly panicking mind reminding her that this was _Ladybug_ after all, but it was as she felt the mask form over her face that it really sank in.

She yelled and jumped back, flailing slightly, her hands hidden beneath the fabric and denying her the simple right to be able to discern things by touch, whirling round as she realised that she was now wearing a red and black skin-tight suit.

She was wearing a red and black skin-tight suit, and Chat Noir's face had gone suspiciously flushed as he shamelessly stared at her.

She yelled and made to cover herself up, at least feeling some satisfaction that he looked ashamed and glanced away with a hurried apology.

“What is this? I can't go around looking like _this_!” she hissed, Plagg snorted and butting his chosen playfully. Oh this was far too much fun. Poor Adrien, not having seen his lover in a year and then having her stood in front of him in an outfit that very, very little to the imagination. The boy must be having a fit, but in Plagg's mind he had brought it on himself.

“L-let's just get Félix purified, shall we?” Adrien's voice came out in a half-squeak, coughing in a failed attempt to hide just how much he was affected by her current appearance. He quickly turned and headed over to where the other man was still bound and out cold, flicking a quick gaze over him, but he was stumped. He knew that Ladybug could purify the akuma safely.. But how? Where even was it?

“It's in his ring,” she spoke as she stepped up beside him, her face still red in her embarrassment but distracted enough with the situation to push through. He frowned, glancing to her oddly.

“Why would you say that?”

“Hawk Moth told me. He said that Chat Noir was akumatised, and that it was in his ring. I think he originally meant for me to take your ring from you – your Miraculous, was it? – but look, you can see the purple haze coming from it,” she responded, waving a vague hand in the direction of his ring as she crouched down.

Chat Noir's frown deepened, shaking his head. “I don't see a haze.”

“Really? But it's just – oh!”

As she spoke she had removed the ring from his hand, and the second the connect between it and his skin was broken his transformation dropped, leaving him in the clothes she had seen him in last. She watched in horror as purple liquid seemed to pool from his pores into a mass on his arm before solidifying into a butterfly, wings fluttering and taking the small body up into the air. Chat Noir made to lunch for it but a sharp _Kid, no!_ from Plagg reminded him that touching it with his bare hands was a really, _really_ stupid idea.

“What do I do now?” Marinette looked panicked, realising Tikki had never actually explained how to do this, and Plagg quickly darted over to her, right before her eyes, and stared at her solidly to hold her attention and keep her focused.

“You see that yo-yo on your hip, kid? Use that – catch the akuma with that, and never your hands. You control it with you will – if you think about where you want it to go, it will do it.”

She didn't really understand what he was trying to explain but Chat Noir looked agitated as it started to flutter out of their reach. Taking her yo-yo in hand and deciding that this was by far the weirdest day of her life and if it was only going to get weirder, so be it, she wound her arm back and threw it forward, muttering a plea under her breath for it to do what it needed to do.

Chat Noir watched in awe as the clasp of the yo-yo seemed to open to reveal a burning white light, engulfing the akuma and trapping it within, before Marinette pulled it back to her, gripping it tightly in her hand and staring at it a moment, blinking. On instinct she tapped the top with her finger, and as he continued to watch it was Ladybug, not Marinette, that released the white and freshly purified butterfly into the air. His gaze followed it up as it slipped through on of the cracks at the top of the wall to break free into the street, off to live what he hoped would be a peaceful existence.

Marinette, too, found herself staring as it disappeared, unable to believe what had just happened. Everything had felt so.. So surreal, so ethereal, and yet so right. She hadn't wanted to become Ladybug but as she'd purified the akuma something had resonated with her heart and called out to her, and she swore she could feel a buzz of pride from Tikki as well. She looked down as Chat opened his mouth to speak, but both were distracted from a groan at their feet.

She swore and knelt down to quickly undo the ropes holding him in place, and the second he was free she tackled Félix in a tight hug, barely giving him enough time to come to terms with what had just gone on. Dazed he hugged her back, taking a moment to realise that his hand was touching a very familiar fabric, and Chat Noir watched as his eyes widened with a dawning clarity at the red that filled his vision.

“L-Ladybug?” Félix stuttered, the hug only tightening further before she pulled back, tears running down her cheeks.

“Félix, I'm so glad you're alright. When you came to my house and attacked me and Chat Noir told me you were akumatised and I didn't think we could save you but you're you, you're fine, and I'm so sorry you had to go through all that and-” She reached up and rubbed at her eyes, sitting back on her ankles. He pushed himself into a sitting position, blinking slowly before venturing out with a hesitant “Marinette?”, and received a warm nod in response before she tackled him into another hug, crying into his shoulder in relief.

Félix placed a comforting hand on her back and rubbed soothingly, glancing over her hair to lock onto a different green gaze. Plagg followed his line of vision, whiskers drooping as Adrien smiled, nodded once, and turned away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's your heart? Still in one piece? Do I need to work harder?


	9. Broken Wings make Broken Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the most cowardly thing you can do is try and protect the one you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the delay - I got distracted by AU ideas, and then the season finale completely broke me, and I've been drawing angst.
> 
> I get the feeling people won't be happy with me for this chapter, but I'll explain myself in the notes at the end.
> 
> Usual drill, it's 3am, I tried proof-reading, please tell me if there's anything horrific that I overlooked!

“You know, if people see me with you they're going to assume you managed to rope another nutter into murdering people with you, right?”

Chat Noir rolled his eyes slightly at Ladybug's quiet words, trying not to pay attention to her as he strained his hearing, focusing on the building next to them. In all honesty all he wanted to do was sleep; he'd taken on two akumas, saved his (ex-? Potentially-still-but-it's-really-complicated-? He'd have to mentally decide on the prefix at a later time, he had decided) girlfriend, then yelled at her, gotten slapped by her, and then been reunited with his millennia old ethereal partner in crime who actually fought crime.

Yes, he was definitely far too tired to be about to take on Hawk Moth right then, and he was honestly surprised that Marinette was holding up so well. He was pretty sure she'd only agreed to try this now because she knew if she waited she'd start doubting herself and second guess herself and then she'd have a fight motivating herself to try again.

_Some things never change_ , he thought with a fond smile, pleased that his head was turned away from her at that point.

He leaned his cheek a little heavier against the wall, ear twitching as he brushed against a weed growing from between the bricks. It was silent inside, as far as he could tell, and he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about that. On one hand it meant that there wasn't anything large and dangerous in there, but on the other hand it left them clueless as to what to expect.

He'd never been inside the building, although Marinette had done her best to describe it as she remembered it. Still, the only thing that really came to her mind was the large amount of butterflies and the knowledge that he could well be exposed to a multitude of akuma really wasn't helping him much with his motivation.

At least this time, he wouldn't be alone. He had a Ladybug, he had a partner, a friend, a trusted companion. Sure, as their alter-egos they may still be extremely rusty and uncoordinated, but Adrien and Marinette went back a long way. Deep down he was sure that she would settle into their old balance on a subconscious level, and just prayed she didn't make any connections as a result. He still wasn't sure why he didn't want her to know, but he wasn't mentally ready for it. He'd hurt her enough.

He was distracted by the sound of fabric rustling, and didn't need to look behind him to know she was pulling at her outfit. Her very form-fitting outfit that he was going to have to do his damnedest not to think about lest his imagination run away with him. Although they had certainly gotten intimate more than a few times during their relationship, she had always been an extremely modest person and hated her figure being on show, even to him. Seeing her in her natural shape sparked sharp memories of passionate nights and sweet kisses, hands on skin and in hair, promises whispered in the darkest hours of the day and hearts sworn to one another.

He would always do what was best for her, and right now that meant not thinking about Marinette's body when he had to concentrate.

“I can't hear him in there,” he murmured, straightening from his crouch to ease the ache in his muscles. He heard her stand a moment later, her hand ghosting over his arm in what he knew was her attempt at reassurance. He must have been projecting his nerves more than he thought.

“Do you still want to go in?”

Did they really have an option?

They'd left Félix behind in the den to recuperate, but none of them were sure on whether or not that had been a wise decision. Adrien had never had an akuma victim left alive before, after all, and none of them knew whether he would be left susceptible to another possession. Tikki and Plagg had said that it wasn't usually the case, but then again nothing about this whole scenario was sticking to the norm. All they could do was try and keep this quick, and hurry back to him.

It didn't help that they'd decided not to purify the other akuma just yet. On the off chance that a purified akuma returned straight to where it came from, they didn't want to risk giving Hawk Moth any ammo. At this point, though, Chat Noir doubted it would make much difference.

“We shouldn't leave him unattended much longer,” he sighed reluctantly, and he heard her let a breath out behind him too.

“So, what was the plan again? Go in guns blazing?”

“It's the only pawsible option, really.”

He was met with silence, and he flashed her a brief grin over his shoulder.

“You didn't,” she deadpanned, eyes looking less than impressed with him. He chuckled.

“Come on,” Adrien wriggled his eyebrows, drawing his baton from its holder at the base of his back, and twirled it a little. “This kitty wants to play with the butterflies.”

She placed a hand on his arm a little more firmly this time, making him pause mid-step before flashing her a small, confused glance. She seemed to flounder a moment, confusion in her eyes before a weak smile touched them, squeezing his arm in solidarity before letting her hand drop to her side once more.

Before he knew what he was doing he was reaching up, gloved hand lightly touching her cheek, and he tried to ignore the way she locked up at the contact. He delicately moved a strand of hair away, revealing the precious earrings that had caused so much trouble, so many deaths. All those innocents who suffered, and all because Hawk Moth wanted these earrings? So unassuming, little red gems with five black spots. He could feel a happy thrum from Plagg at the contact, and could only imagine how it must feel for his kwami to finally have his companion and other half back in business with him.

Well, really, he imagined it was a little how he felt with his fingers brushing against Marinette's cheek.

He pulled away before he let himself get lost in the moment, and squared his shoulders, turning back to the building. They were still safely hidden by the cover of night, and this particular district wasn't well populated in the first place. Slipped round to the large front door, he took a deep breath, gathered himself, and delivered a harsh kick. The wood splintered beneath his metal-toed boots, cracking enough for him to be able to shove it open, and he flashed a bright green glance back to her in silent communication before darting in, sensing her follow rather than hearing her.

His baton extended to its combat length in his hand, hearing the soft whizzing of her yo-yo, and let his night vision work to its fullest potential.

He frowned, and scanned the room again.

Retracting his baton he muttered under his breath, instinctively reaching out as Marinette almost walked right into his back.

“He's not here.”

She took a sharp intake of breath, taking her yo-yo back in hand and resting her other on his arm, trying to grow accustomed to the low lighting and feeling at a severe disadvantage here.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just that,” he spoke, voice cracking a little in confusion. Making sure she was still in touch with him he started to walk forwards, earnestly searching for the slightest clue he could possibly find. The air was devoid of butterflies, no paintings or anything hanging on the walls. Just two chairs sat in the middle of the large room, a coffee table, and two whisky glasses. He started to glance away when some motion on the table quickly drew his eye back to it. He frowned warily and started to edge over, though hissed when he saw what it was that had moved.

Despite the almost immaculate condition of the surface, four nails had been hammered into it, pinning down the wings of a single, white butterfly. It was fluttering weakly in an attempt to escape, but its wings had mostly been shredded in its efforts, and he felt sick just looking at it. As much as he may loathe the creatures, this was beyond cruel, even to him.

What he mistook for shadows and tears on the delicate white were, upon closer inspection, words written in ink, barely dried. He had to concentrate to focus his eyes enough to make the minuscule words out (really, how did anyone manage to write so small on a butterfly?), and he could feel Marinette glance round his shoulder in an attempt to see what he was looking at, despite the both of them knowing it was a fruitless endeavour.

 

> _You shouldn't have_ _involved Mlle Dupain-Cheng in your little games, CN._
> 
> _Come to the city of your mother's birth, or consider your bug exterminated._

 

Every word made his blood run colder and colder, too many implications and revelations coming to light for his liking. For one thing, Hawk Moth (for who else could have left such a note and then disappeared mysteriously) knew that Ladybug had been awakened, and not only that, but her identity.

Secondly, he had at least an inkling as to Adrien's real identity. How, he didn't know, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

_The city of your mother's birth.._

Blackmail was a dirty way to play, but unfortunately for him, he was going to have to put himself right in Hawk Moth's hands.

The enemy knew Ladybug's identity. Those damned earrings had caused far, _far_ much more trouble than they were worth. He knew her identity, and he would hurt her. Of course, it could just be an empty threat, but Adrien wasn't willing to take that chance.

He would do anything to keep her safe. And if that anything just so happened to mean walking alone to a trap set down by his enemy? So be it.

Chat Noir had always been, and always would be, the shadow to Ladybug's light. He would go where she could not, strike where she would not, protect where she could not. Her flanks were exposed, and Hawk Moth would strike her over Adrien's dead body.

“Chat Noir?”

Her voice cut through his thoughts, heavily laced with concern as she picked up the sudden tension in his shoulders.

“Is there something wrong? Do you know where he is?”

Yes, and yes, but he wasn't about to tell her that. He knew Marinette. As much as she denied her bravery, he knew she was too selfless. Even though she claimed not to have ties to his black clad alter-ego, she would feel honour bound to accompany him, and even if not as Marinette, as her new persona of Ladybug.

She wouldn't let him go alone.

He couldn't let her follow him.

“I think this is Félix's akuma that we purified,” he responded instead, not exactly lying. It would make sense that if the akuma returned to him, it would explain why he knew that Ladybug was now active. They should have waited, but they couldn't have made Félix suffer any longer than he already had.

The only good news was that since Hawk Moth had fled, it meant that he considered them a threat. He wouldn't face them head on, but he planned to divide them.

With Chat Noir in one place on his own, leaving Ladybug vulnerable, it would be his prime time to strike.

Except she wouldn't be vulnerable, would she?

He could see his future laid bare in front of him, and felt a smirk creep over his features in the way that only a man faced with a walk to the hangman's noose could muster, knowing there was no point in trying to run from a destiny set in stone.

“Come on, let's return to Félix. We may as well purify all these akuma while Hawk Moth's in hiding. There's no point in leaving them corrupted any longer than necessary.”

 

* * *

 

Félix had been pacing in a nervous fervour from the moment the two had left, feeling for he umpteenth time in his life completely and utterly useless. It had been lovely to see Plagg again, even if both of them had been overcome with shame and guilt, both blaming the events on themselves and insisting the other had nothing to do with it. He'd barely been able to look Marinette in the eye after that awkward revelation that he had _tried to kill her_ , alarmed that nobody else held him at fault at all.

He found it patronising and stifling, and wished people would just let him wallow in his guilt. He had succumbed to the temptation of the akuma, he had been unable to stop it despite having a decade of experience fighting them.

It was his fault and he accepted full responsibility for his actions.

It didn't mean that it had been any less painful watching his replacement and his new Ladybug dash out into the night with the sudden plan and desire to take on Hawk Moth, however. It wasn't some honeymoon for them, some nice walk in the park with an added surprise of fighting an evil mastermind and a dash of _potential death_ to complete the perfect evening.

They were both so young in comparison to him, so inexperienced. They hadn't felt the pull of an akuma like he had. That darkness that tugged at his soul and begged him to give in to it, that realisation that he was so tired of struggling and fighting for a world that couldn't care less about whether he lived or died. It was easier to embrace the numbness, to know that someone else would take care of all your worries for you.

If anything happened to either of them, he would never forgive himself.

He was getting paranoid, imagining one of them returning with the corpse of the other in their arms; of Marinette returning with Chat Noir limp in her grasp, Plagg fighting to hold the transformation to spare her the painful truth that the man she loved was the one she had watched die for a second time.

He could envisage the same situation on the inverse, of Adrien lamenting the loss of his beloved Marinette who died without knowing that he had been with her in her last moments, the poor girl believing she had died alone.

He couldn't deal with this.

In an attempt to distract himself he stepped over to one of the rows of jars, kneeling down to look at the akuma inside. It made him shudder to think that one of those had been feeding on him, nestled into his heart and poisoning him from the inside.

It fluttered against the glass, neither trying to move towards him nor trying to escape from him, and he sighed, hugging his knees to him and resting his chin on them.

“It's a sad existence we lead, isn't it, little guy?” he smiled softly, watching its monotonous movements. “You ruined my life and I ruined yours. The only difference is that there's someone who can help you, and soon you'll fly free once more.”

His expression dropped, his words weighing his stomach down more than he cared to admit to himself. What did he have to look forward to? Ladybug's purification couldn't remove the guilt, the innocent blood, the nightmares. While the akuma would soon be rising to the heavens, he would forever be stained with sin and plagued with death, a creature destined for a life in the shadows.

He heard the door to then den bounce shut and nearly shot out of his skin, barely avoiding sending the jar in front of him flying. His heart was hammering madly as he waited to see them step in, and felt the relief like a punch to the gut when he saw that they were both unharmed. Not even remotely beaten up.

That was when he knew something hadn't gone according to plan.

“Alright,” he spoke, ashamed of the weak laugh that betrayed his nerves as he addressed them. “Who got cold feet?”

“Hawk Moth,” was Ladybug's half-hearted reply, flopping down on the foot of the steps and massaging her calves as Chat Noir stalked down the hall, a darkness to his expression that Félix didn't like one bit. In all honesty, he did have to question Plagg's choice in making the boy his successor. Like he himself, Adrien had seen pain at a young age and lived through it. It seemed to him though that the young model had a habit of making his situation worse for himself, as if he didn't believe he deserved any better.

Exhibit A: the woman he loved more than anything in the world was literally staring at him, and all he had to do was drop his transformation. The fact that Plagg hadn't dropped it for him was the only reason Félix hadn't decided to intervene. There must be a reason for keeping this secret, even if he wasn't privy to it.

“So what's the plan now?” Félix glanced between them, watching as Chat Noir deliberated over a couple of jars before finally settling on one, taking it in his leather gloves and raising it to his face, almost as if appraising it. Sensing he wasn't going to answer, Ladybug was the one to respond.

“We're going to make a start on purifying all these akuma. I guess it's good practice for me, and it will help Tikki and I bond, but just.. There's so many!”

“Don't feel you have to do them all in one go, alright? I'm sure it's going to be tiring for you.”

She nodded, standing and stretching out her back, twisting a little as if in a warm up. She was soon unhooking her yo-yo from her waist and giving it a few test throws, eventually nodding once she felt settled enough to begin. Chat Noir brought his jar over, letting out a shaky breath, and Félix noted he wouldn't meet her gaze, not in the slightest.

“Is there a particular reason you want to start with this one?” she asked him, looking a little put out by his sudden change in demeanour. He nodded, eyes remaining focused on the akuma within for the time being.

“I think you'll want to purify this one first.”

She tensed, catching on to his hidden meaning, and felt her face pale. She forced herself to swallow, reaching out and stroking the tips of her fingers down the glass.

“It's.. It's his, isn't it?”

Chat Noir nodded, keeping his head lowered and flicking a wary glance up to her face. He could see tears start to well in her eyes, but he didn't reach out to her. He couldn't. He mustn't.

“What..?” Her voice came out as a coarse whisper, her throat growing ragged as emotions started to well within her. “What was his emotion..? What caused him to become akumatised?”

Félix caught Adrien's eye and shook his head minutely, silently begging him not to do this. What was he thinking? He was going to break Marinette's heart, he was going to destroy her and the worst of it all was he probably couldn't even see it. He hadn't spoken to her about that day, not properly. Félix had seen how much she truly loved him in the few times she'd mentioned him, he'd seen the pain deep in her soul and the cracks that she was barely holding together.

Adrien was making the biggest mistake of his life, but Félix was helpless. He had no place intervening. He had no right to, not after all the pain he'd caused them both.

“It was his fear of never being good enough for anyone. For his father, for his career.. His fear that he was never going to be the boyfriend you deserved.”

Horror spread over her features to the extent that the mask had no hope in hiding it, and a strangled noise came out of her throat. “How could he ever believe that? How could he believe he wasn't good enough for me? _Him_? The most perfect being to ever grace the earth? Did I do something wrong? Did I give him cause to believe I thought he was failing me?”

She looked so distraught, hugging herself and rocking slightly where she stood, ugly tears streaming down her cheeks that she made no attempt to stem. Chat Noir shook his head, looking to her earnestly.

“He thought the world of you. He loved you more than he loved anything. He only wanted the best for you. When he felt himself slipping.. He knew he wasn't what you deserved.”

“ _He was more than I deserved!_ ” Marinette let out a raw and guttural cry, almost breaking into a scream at the pain that racked her core. Chat made to approach her but she shoved him and snatched the jar, clutching it tightly to her chest before storming past him and off to the far end of the den, off to where she first held Tikki, wanting some privacy.

Chat refused to meet Félix's gaze as he turned and hurried outside, barely able to conceal the tears in his own eyes, and the older man decided to follow suit and give Marinette a few moments alone.

He closed the door behind him and sat down, leaning his head back, still able to hear the body-racking sobs that tore trough her even through the wood. She was breaking, and he was sure that any healing she had managed on her own had been completely undone and ripped open anew by Adrien's words.

He had to tell her. He couldn't sit by and listen to her destroy herself like this.

As if sensing his intentions he felt a gloved hand slip over his mouth, the other Chat's piercing eyes holding his own, with a silent plea.

“Walk with me,” he mouthed, gesturing behind him with a slight jerk of his head.

Reluctantly, Félix nodded, standing and watching as the other moved to climb up the wall and on to the rooftops, away from the prying eyes of the city and away from Marinette.

It would be some time later before a white butterfly made its way out through the drain and spread its wings, climbing into the sky as dawn started to break over a blissfully unaware Paris, chased by the sound of a broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, first of all:  
> Cop-out.  
> I'm sure you were expecting a nice big conflict with Hawk Moth.  
> Truth be told, while I was planning this fic out, I couldn't get a fight to work out realistically, which is why I made this decision. On the other hand, I do have plans for a sequel that would involve more Hawk Moth (because when I started writing this he wasn't supposed to be the villain but plans changed), and his "regrouping" sets up the sequel nicely.  
> There is one more chapter to go, sort of an epilogue, and then this "arc" is finished. I can't promise how soon a sequel will be written as I want to try and not get myself caught in plot holes this time, but it shouldn't be too long a wait. Hopefully. (But I mean following on from that really big hint dropped at the start of the Volpina episode, now I have feels again so who knows where this will take us?"
> 
> Secondly:  
> Adrien. Wtf.  
> I didn't bring you up to be like this.  
> You made your bread girl cry.


End file.
